Hush
by Theine
Summary: Matthew didn't believe in ghosts... or at least that's what he told himself. However, when a mundane trip to the library takes an unexpected turn, Matthew is left questioning everything he'd ever known, and fighting to save a friend who only he can see. AU. FACE family. PruCan Fluff. Human names used.
1. Between the Books

**Hello and welcome one and all to this story (and the only major Author's Note that will appear at the beginning of a chapter)!**

**The idea for this story has been floating around in my head for a while, and now that I've recovered from my November essay-coma (urgh, essays...) I've decided that this is the perfect time to get started on it. This first chapter will be kind of short, as will the second, but the length should start to pick up from there on out.  
**

**From the tags you'll notice that this is a supernatural/friendship piece. I was seriously also considering placing it under horror or suspense... but a horror/friendship combo just seemed... strange, for lack of a better word, and the suspense comes mainly from the supernatural elements. So, feel free to think of it as a suspenseful supernatural tale of friendship with a dash of horror to keep everything spicy. It can also be viewed as a romance, but an innocent one based purely on the young age of the characters.**

**I feel that overall it will remain rated T, however I might bump up the rating for individual chapters depending on how dark certain parts of the story turn out. If I do, it will always be marked at the beginning of the chapter along with any other pertinent warnings.**

**So, now that that's out of the way... on with the story!**

~oOo~

Matthew walked along the library stacks, his fingers trailing gently along the faded and creased spines of the books.

Outside, the summer sun was burning the blue from the sky, leaving it pale as a shroud. Waves of heat, shimmering like the reflection of light on water, rolled sluggishly along the sidewalks and beneath the tires of the few cars braving the midday roads.

It was an oppressive sort of heat, the kind that clings to the inside of your lungs and leaves you gasping for breath. Heavy and muggy, unstirred by any breeze.

The walk to the library had seemed to take forever, and by the time Matthew and his Papa had arrived, they'd both been covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Stepping through the sliding glass doors had been like entering another world. The air in the library was dry and cool enough to raise goosebumps along Matthew's arms. From above he could hear the hum and whoosh of the climate control system on full blast, the sound a constant drone in every corner of the library.

As Matthew passed out of the brightly coloured world of children's literature he started to sing, the lyrics falling softly from his lips.

It was a small, sweet tune that his Papa always used to sing when Matthew would pester him for a song. It wasn't a happy song. However, even after Matthew had learned the meaning behind the words, it had stuck with him and remained one of his favourites. Besides, the first couple verses weren't sad at all.

_"À la claire fontaine,  
m'en allent promener.  
J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle,  
que je m'y suis baigne.  
Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,  
jamais je ne t'oublierai."_

His voice dropped to a whisper as he passed in front of a librarian. She looked young, probably no older than his Papa. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a loose bun and there were two small ornamental flowers clipped just in front of her ears. If she had heard Matthew she made no sign, and her eyes looked straight through him as she scanned the call numbers of the books on the shelf. She pulled a book from the beat-up wooden return cart and Matthew had to hurry forward to avoid her hand as she leaned down to slide it into a gap on the shelf.

Matthew looked up at her and raised his hands as though to clap. He paused, and then let them drop back to his sides. His Papa would scold him for scaring people if he did that, and yet, as the librarian's eyes passed over him again he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be noticed.

Matthew turned away, his song forgotten as he chewed on his lower lip glumly. It was always the same. At least his Papa, Francis, could always see him, even if he did spend a lot of time at work.

It wasn't as though Matthew was invisible — he checked his reflection every morning in the bathroom mirror — but oftentimes it seemed as though no one noticed he was there; standing beside them in a line, or raising his hand to answer a question in the classroom. Sometimes he felt like he was a ghost, watching people go about their lives on the far side of a pane of glass. Close, yet forever separate.

Matthew shook off his sad thoughts. This was no time for them, he'd been begging his Papa to take him to the library for almost a week. But between Francis's work schedule, and that of Arthur, Matthew's other father, they hadn't been able to come before today. Now that he was here there was no time to lose. There was only four weeks and three days left before the library's summer reading contest would close, and Matthew was aiming to win!

* * *

"You've already finished all those books?" Arthur asked him when he'd first brought up going to the library the week before, looking at the small stack of novels in Matthew's arms. They were Matthew's first batch of library books, about five in total, and he'd just finished reading the last one the night before.

"Yes, Arthur," he replied as loud as he could. Matthew knew his other father sometimes had trouble hearing him clearly, but after living together for the past several years at least the man remembered him most of the time. "I got Papa to sign them off on my sheet."

Arthur only shook his head in amazement. "Now if only we could get your brother to do the same," he said dryly, looking over to the kitchen table where Matthew's older brother Alfred sat wolfing down a bowl of cereal.

Alfred caught the look and snorted. "I could read if I wanted to," he muttered around a mouthful of Corn Pops.

"I'll believe it when I see it. And don't talk with your mouth full."

Alfred stuck out his tongue, purposely displaying the small bits of cereal clinging to it. Then he turned his attention back to his breakfast, apparently unconcerned by the noise of disgust Arthur made, or how the man's eyebrows drew together as he scowled.

"That boy…" Arthur muttered before turning back to Matthew. He was still scowling.

"I'm sorry Matthew, but I have a meeting today at work and can't take you," he apologized while checking his watch. "Ah, I'm running late as it is! I know your father didn't get home until two this morning, but maybe he'll be able to take you when he gets up." Then Arthur was out the door, black briefcase in hand. The car rumbled to life in the driveway and Matthew heard it pull out into the street before the sound faded away.

"Tough luck short stuff," Alfred said in a singsong voice as he dumped his now empty bowl in the sink. "Anyway, I'm going over to play video games at Kiku's place. Catch you later!"

He brushed past Matthew, and the front door opened and closed for the second time in as many minutes.

Matthew was left standing alone in the kitchen with the stack of books in his arms, the summer sunlight pouring in through the windows. He sighed and turned away, walking back deeper into the house where he'd wait for his Papa to wake up.

* * *

Matthew peered down the row. It was empty.

He cast a quick glance around and then slunk between the stacks, excitement tingling through his limbs. It felt like he was trespassing in a forbidden domain: an ancient burial site, or the headquarters of a secret society.

In reality it was just the adult section.

Most of the books here were as thick as his thumb was long and had titles that summoned up images of ancient battles between the forces of light and darkness. Unlike the children's section, here the stacks towered up over his head, so high that he could barely see the books on the uppermost shelves, let alone reach them. There was a stepping stool at the end of the row, but he ignored it. Instead, he ran his hand along the top of the books sitting just at his eye level as he walked down the row, feeling the soft, worn pages against the pads of his fingers. The musty smell of old paper was strong here and it tickled Matthew's nose as he reached up and began to ease a random book off the shelf.

Suddenly he heard the tap, tap of shoes on the dark linoleum floor. Matthew looked quickly to his right and held his breath. A man passed by the end of the row, shaggy brown hair obscuring his face from where Matthew stood frozen only a couple meters away. The man didn't look over however, and just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Letting out his breath Matthew started to turn back to his book when something caught his eye.

He paused.

Sitting two books in from the end of the row was a volume bound in leather.

It was so different from the surrounding paperbacks that Matthew abandoned the book in his hand and stepped up to examine it. The jacket was the colour of caramel, and had several circular stains creeping their way onto the spine, as though it had once been left out in the rain. It had no title that Matthew could see, but there were spiralling motifs that looked like leaves running up and down the spine.

Matthew carefully pulled it free, noting that it was heavier than he expected. He took a small step back so he could lower the book and rest it on the shelf below. As he flipped the book cover-side-up, a flicker of movement from the shelf caught his attention and he glanced up into the space vacated by the leather-bound book.

An eye, as red as blood on fresh snow, stared back.

~oOo~

**Translations:**

_À la claire fontaine,_ - At the clear fountain  
_m'en allent promener._ - On my promenade  
_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle,_ - I found the water so fair  
_que je m'y suis baigne._ - That I stopped to bathe  
_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,_ - I have loved you for a longtime  
_jamais je ne t'oublierai._ - Never will I forget you

**So that brings us to the end of the first chapter! Short, I know, but I'll be putting up the second one in the next couple days.  
**

**I love hearing back from people on my stories, so I'll leave you with a question: what would you do if you pulled a book off a shelf and found an eye looking back at you? I'd probably jump a foot in the air, throw in the air whatever was in my hands at the time, and then be hit in the head by it as it came back down...**

**I'd like to give a shoutout to my parents and sister for acting as my beta readers for this chapter, and to any of you who have read this far (you're all awesome)!  
**

**And, general disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers or any of its characters, and won't throughout any of the following chapters either.  
**


	2. Call Number Unknown

Matthew gasped noiselessly and stumbled back into the shelves behind him with a soft thump. His hands moved on their own, flying up defensively, the book he still held now raised in front of his chest like a shield.

The blood red eye didn't react, it just kept staring straight at him.

Matthew didn't know how long he stood there, frozen in that pose; it felt like a lifetime. All the while his thoughts raced at a hundred miles a minute.

How could an eye be there? It didn't look fake, even with its frightening colour.

Was someone playing a prank on him? But that would mean that they had noticed him, and almost no one ever did that. At least without being prompted.

Was this person one of the few who could?

Slightly encouraged by this thought, Matthew took a deep breath and tried to find his voice. "Uh-um…" The words stuck in his throat, so he swallowed and tried again. "Y-you frightened me."

There was no response.

"Hello? Excuse me…" Matthew said a little louder, in case the person hadn't heard him.

Silence.

Matthew squirmed under the gaze. He almost wished it would move; blink; or _something_ other than stare at him. He could tell, it was staring _at_ him, not through him like most people's eyes did. He raised the book higher so it covered most of his face and then took a hesitant step to the left, back the way he'd come.

The iris jumped after him. The movement was so sudden that Matthew's heart leapt into his throat with a painful lurch and then his legs were driving him back along the row. He rounded the corner at the end of the stack, fully intending to scold to the person on the other side.

"That wasn't very nice!-" The words spilling from his mouth before he realized that the row was empty.

"Eh?" Matthew stepped back around the corner to look into his own row.

It was also empty.

Matthew shook off the chill that was running up his spine as he cautiously made his way back to the place where he'd seen the eye.

_It won't be there,_ he told himself firmly. _It was just someone playing a prank._ Regardless, he took a deep breath before peeking back into the gap between books.

The red eye fixed upon him.

It was too close.

Matthew couldn't look away. His legs turned to jelly and he began to shake.

He wanted to run. Run all the way to where his Papa was waiting patiently for him to return, but his body wouldn't obey.

His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, and he mouthed a silent plea for help.

As though answering him, the eye blinked; breaking the spell.

Matthew's feet barely touched the ground as he flew through the stacks. He passed the brown-haired librarian, still working with the return cart, and accidentally bumped her in his haste to get away. She let out a surprised shriek as she rocked forward, but Matthew was gone before she could recover her balance and wits to tell him off.

He ran all the way back to the children's literature section where his Papa was lounging in a bright red armchair, his long legs crossed casually at the ankle. He had a small stack of books on his lap and was leafing through the top one with a small wistful smile, but he looked up when Matthew barrelled into the chair's arm, panting.

"Matthieu?" he sounded surprised and his brows scrunched together in concern. "_Qu'est-ce qui se passe?_ Your face is all white like you've seen a ghost."

Matthew slumped against the chair, feeling safer now that his Papa was near. _Is that what I saw?_ he wondered as he tried to catch his breath. It certainly would explain the colour of the eye, and how there had been no one in the next row over… Matthew shook the eerie thought from his head. _No. Ghosts don't exist. They don't… do they?_

Francis took the shake of his head to mean no. He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin as though they were playing 'I Spy'. "Ah, I've got it! You saw that librarian - _c'est quoi son nom?_ - Berwald something-or-other. I still remember when 'e scolded Alfred for yelling. Your brother was crying and babbling about a troll wanting to eat 'im for the rest of the day!"

Matthew laughed shakily. _If only that was it…_

He would gladly take the glowering librarian over whatever had been looking out at him from between the books. At least he knew that Mr. Berwald meant no harm, even if he _was_ pretty frightening.

He opened his mouth to tell his Papa what he'd really seen, but he was cut off.

"Oh, you found another book?"

Matthew looked down in surprise. The leather-bound volume was still wrapped in his arms. He'd been so scared that he hadn't put it back when he ran away. "Umm, I guess so," he said uncertainly. He didn't even know what its title was yet.

"Alright then, we should get going. It will be lunch time soon," Francis said and stood up, lifting the stack of books he'd been holding for Matthew. He started to walk towards the circulation desk, glancing back once to make sure that Matthew was following him.

Matthew followed close at his heels, his eyes darting in the direction of the adult section as they passed by. Even if he told himself he didn't believe in ghosts, his Papa's words had unnerved him and now his imagination started to run away into scenes of clawed hands as pale as mist reaching out of the rows, and red eyes that gleamed in the dark.

He reached out to entwine two of his fingers in one of the belt loops of his Papa's jeans.

Nothing. There were no flickering shadows or pale figures drifting down the rows.

Feeling relieved, Matthew looked down at the cover of the book cradled in his arm, still wondering if he should tell his Papa about the eye.

"Hush," it whispered.

Matthew froze. Had the book just… spoken to him? He didn't notice when he lost his grip on his Papa's jeans, or how Francis continued on towards the circulation desk without him. Holding the book out at arms length, Matthew stared hard at the cover. The title looked back at him defiantly. It was the only thing on the cover, and just like the leaf designs along the spine had been etched into the leather.

_Hush_, it read in large, loopy cursive.

Matthew shook his head again and hurried to catch up with his Papa. _That was just my imagination._

Francis was already in line when Matthew trotted up beside him and attached himself to his belt loop once again. Francis smiled down at him and mussed his hair playfully. "Do you 'ave your card?" he asked.

Matthew nodded, but he didn't want to let go of his Papa, and he had no where to place the book. Sensing his dilemma, Francis took pity on him and held out his hand. Matthew handed the book to him quickly, glad to no longer be holding it. Francis glanced it over with a thoughtful hum, rubbing the cover with his thumb as though checking that the leather of the binding was authentic, before putting it on the top of the stack now resting on the counter.

Digging his hand into the back pocket of his shorts, Matthew pulled out a thin, white plastic card and waited for their turn to come in line.

Matthew recognized the blond man working the desk. His name was Tino, and he also ran the library's weekly book club meetings.

Tino smiled when he saw Francis and leaned on the high desk. He had been working here long enough to know that the Frenchman's presence meant that Matthew was there too. "Good morning Matti. Frans," he said cheerfully. Tino was from Finland and always used the Finnish version of people's names, much to Matthew's delight. He loved hearing how people would say his name in different parts of the world.

"Hello Mr. Tino," Matthew replied and was relieved when the librarian seemed to hear him okay. He handed Tino his library card and watched as it was run under the scanner.

Tino handed it back and then glanced at the monitor of his computer. "You've been borrowing lots of books lately," he remarked with a smile.

"I'm doing the reading contest," Matthew replied proudly.

"Good for you Matti! You're such a good reader already, I'm sure you'll do really well." Tino looked at the computer again and his eyes swept down screen. He suddenly looked puzzled. "Matti, how old are you again?"

"Eleven."

"Only eleven?" Tino's brows shot up and then he laughed. "A lot of these books are for the group above you, at this rate you'll leave the rest of your age bracket in the dust."

Matthew felt a flush of pride and he leaned against his Papa's side, a big grin on his face. His fright from earlier seemed years away thanks to Tino's praise of his reading abilities. This was why he wanted to win the contest. If he did, then people would have to notice him, and his name would go up on a small plaque in the entryway for an entire _year_.

"Alright, let's get you checked through," Tino said, reaching for the leather-bound book. He flipped open the cover with a practiced hand and ran it under the scanner, but the machine didn't beep. He turned it around the other way and set it at an angle, rocking it back and forth, but there was still no response. "What?" he mumbled to himself, studying the book. "Where's its call number?"

Matthew started to feel nervous again as Tino typed something on the keyboard and then clicked around with the mouse.

"It doesn't look like this book is in our system," he said after a minute of searching. "And I can't find any references to it online either. You're sure you found it on our shelves?"

"Y-yes," Matthew replied hesitantly.

Tino looked at the book in his hand and his eyes grew unfocused, as though he was looking at something far away. He blinked several times and then looked down at Matthew, who shifted his feet, hoping that he wasn't going to get in trouble. "Well," Tino said slowly, clearly thinking about something. "Since it isn't registered, I'll just let you keep it."

"Is that really okay?" Francis asked, looking at Tino in surprise.

Tino shrugged. "I see no problem. You two have been coming here for years, and you always take good care of the books you borrow. I feel like we should be able to do something for you in return."

"And your boss won't mind?"

"I don't think Berwald would mind at all," Tino replied, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Francis made a low, incredulous sound at the back of his throat, and Matthew didn't need to look up to know that his Papa was smirking.

"H-here you go Matti," Tino said hastily, tripping over his words as he handed him the book. "Be sure to tell me how it was once you finish it. Okay?"

"Okay…" Matthew looked at the book once again in his hand. He felt the sudden urge to hand it back and tell Tino that he should keep it here. But as his eyes grazed the title he thought he heard someone whisper in his ear.

"Hush."

Matthew shivered and looked away, suddenly unable to speak his thoughts, even to himself.

* * *

He remained close by Francis' side as they walked home, elbow bumping his Papa's leg with every step. After spending so much time in the cool confines of the library, the muggy heat outside was almost unbearable. Matthew had no idea how his Papa could bear to wear long pants on a day like today. It probably had something to do with fashion.

The first thing he did when they arrived back at their modest two story home was run up to his bedroom. He could hear Francis calling him to come and have a glass of water, but he ignored it and closed the door.

His room was small and dim, the curtains pulled tight across the single window in an effort to keep the heat out. His bed was pushed up against the left wall, across from his closet, and had a short nightstand next to it with a reading light.

Matthew flicked on the lamp and tossed the book onto his bed. Watching it cautiously, some part deep within him half expected it to start crawling spider-like across the duvet.

When it didn't, he sat down beside it and flipped it open to the first page. The story started immediately, without the normal publication information, or author foreword. His eyes scanned the first few sentences, growing wide as they travelled their way down the page. He shuddered and then slammed the cover closed.

Just what had he brought home?

~oOo~

**Translations:**

_Qu'est-ce qui se passe?_ - What's happening?

_C'est quoi son nom?_ - What's his name?

**Chapter two done!**

**I want to thank Phayzer and SamAuragon for their reviews on chapter one, and to those who favorited or followed this story. It makes me happy to hear (and see) that people are interested (and makes me write faster)!**

**I've already finished most of the dialogue for chapter three, and I plan to get some writing done for it tonight and tomorrow, so hopefully it won't take me too long to get it up. It will also be longer than these first two chapters were, and will finally answer the question my sister asked me while beta reading this: "Wait, how is this a PruCan fic?"**

**You shall see. Oh hon hon hon!**

**I hope that no one minds the random French insertions. I couldn't help myself, seeing as how French is my second language and I haven't had much chance to practice or use it for the past couple years. I'll try to keep it minimal, because I know that it isn't much fun to have to skip down to the bottom to find the translations if you aren't fluent in the language. Hopefully the meaning should be able to be guessed just by the context of the sentences with which it appears. But, if you feel that I should include the translations within the text itself let me know in a review and I'll consider it. =)  
**

**I'll leave off with another question: What do you think Matthew read in the book?**


	3. Red As Blood

Matthew was running.

He didn't know where he was going; where he _could_ go. A narrow dirt track pounded against the soles of his feet, the soil as dark as the night sky and shrouded in mist. Trees loomed on either side, their bark pitted and gnarled with age. Matthew ducked beneath a low hanging branch, twigs jutting out like the fingers of a skeletal hand. There was no way off the track as thorny bushes filled the gaps between the tree trunks like barbed wire, so Matthew kept running straight ahead.

Following close behind him was a roar like rushing water crashing over sharp rocked rapids, racing down a narrow canyon. It grew louder and louder, until Matthew could barely hear his own thoughts.

He looked back.

There was no river, only a single, glowing red eye dancing in his vision in tune with the water sound.

Matthew tried to run faster, but the ground suddenly turned to mud and he sank in up to his knees.

The eye was right above him now. Around it the tree branches were reaching down for him like a hundred clawed hands.

Somewhere, a bell was ringing; again, and again, and again.

The sound cut through the dream world and Matthew awoke with a start just as the old grandmother clock in the hall tolled midnight. After a moment of disorientation he realized that he was in his room, on his bed. Matthew shivered and tried to calm his racing heart as he looked around his bedroom. He could make out the lump of the chair in the corner, piled with the clothes he'd worn during the day.

The curtains were open a crack, letting in a thin stream of moonlight that fell over the leather-bound book on his bedside table. It looked ominous, sitting there in the silver light, but the adrenaline was fading and Matthew was too tired to move it, so he turned away.

His feet were tangled in the blankets. Slowly, he reached down and retrieved the duvet, pulling it back over his body, all the way up to his nose.

The memory of the dream was already growing hazy, but he could still see that red eye dancing in the back of his mind. Taking a deep breath he rolled towards the wall and tried to go back to sleep.

* * *

"Are you sure you 'ave everything?" Francis asked, hovering at Matthew's side. Francis was wearing his work uniform, a crisp, white collared shirt with black slacks. His hair was pulled back out of his face in a low ponytail that rippled against the base of his neck every time the glass doors behind him slid open and a wave of hot air rolled into the library.

It was busy here today, no doubt thanks to the weather mellowing out from the heat wave that had stricken the city the week before. It was now merely hot, not stifling. Where they stood near the entrance of the library, the air was buzzing with lowered voices, cut every once in a while by the laughter of small children being herded through the checkpoint gates by their mothers.

"_Oui,_ Papa," Matthew replied, before stepping up to the return slot in the side of the circulation desk and pushing two books through. They landed somewhere behind the wooden facing, the two soft thumps barely audible. There must have been a lot of books returned already today.

Matthew stepped aside so the person behind him in line could return their own books, and turned to face his Papa. He tugged at the straps of his plush polar bear backpack so that the Ziploc containers inside clattered together. "I have my lunch, and your contact information," he said dutifully.

"And you'll be okay until Arthur picks you up at five?"

"_Oui,_ Papa," Matthew repeated. "You worry too much, it's just the reading club."

"Sometimes I think I don't worry enough," he sighed, running a hand through his hair and pulling several of the pale strands out of the elastic that bound them. "_Très bien._ If you need anything you can ask Tino to let you use the phone. Stay safe-"

"-and don't leave the library or talk to strangers," Matthew finished. "If someone I don't know approaches me, then find one of the librarians. I remember."

"I know you do," Francis said, ruffling Matthew's hair. Then his face fell. "But I'd feel like a terrible parent if I didn't go over it. I already feel terrible that I can't stay until your meeting is over."

"It's not your fault you got called in to work," Matthew said, trying to cheer his Papa up. "Besides, I think you're a great parent. And I am eleven already, I can do things on my own."

Matthew cheered silently when Francis' face brightened, though there was still some hesitation in his eyes. It was never there when his brother asked if he could go out on his own, but then Alfred was two years older and over a full head taller than Matthew. Sometimes it was frustrating, but he could never find it in his heart to be mad at his Papa. Matthew knew he was just worried.

In truth, Matthew was also worried. It had been five days since he'd been to the library. Normally he would have been lamenting this absence, especially since classes were over for the summer. But whenever he thought about that eye a dreadful feeling rose up in his chest.

However, today was the reading club's meeting, and since he hadn't been able to come the week before, he had pushed his fear aside long enough to get out the door.

"_Merci, mon petit chou,_" Francis said, ruffling his hair again. "Now, run along and find your friends."

Matthew nodded and wrapped his arms around his Papa's waist in a quick hug before heading through the gate and past the circulation desk. Just before he reached into the central atrium he turned back and waved. Francis waved back, then looked down at the watch on his wrist before hurrying out the library doors.

Viewed from above, the library looked like a giant donut. Standing just over two stories tall, the apex of the roof was a giant glass dome from which was suspended a chandelier of long pieces of frosted glass arranged hanging in a circle, pointing directly down into the main atrium. Matthew thought they looked like wind chimes. Though, of course, they never moved, as they were held in place with lengths of steel cables.

In the centre of the atrium was a large, circular platform with seats set into the outer rim. Sometimes community performances were held there, but it was currently crowded with armchairs and small, three-legged tables. Matthew walked around it, dodging around people heading for the front, their arms full of books. He was aiming for one of the small rooms over near the start of the stacks, however he soon found his way blocked by a crowd clustered around the racks holding the library newsletter. There was an undertone of excitement in their voices as they talked amongst themselves, but Matthew paid it no mind as he looked around, trying to find a way through.

"Haunted, my ass. It's nothing but a ploy to drum up more business," came one voice, slightly louder than the rest.

Matthew paused just as he was about to slip behind a tall man with blond hair even longer than his Papa's.

_Haunted, as in… a ghost?_ he wondered.

But what was haunted? The man speaking didn't say, and even if he did, his voice was drowned out by a sudden onslaught of whispers from the crowd.

Matthew felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. His hands clutched around the straps of his backpack and he began to worm his way through the crowd, towards the newsletter rack.

His passing went more or less unnoticed, even though he accidentally stepped on a woman's foot and bumped into several other people. Finally reaching the front, he found himself face to face with row upon row of papers, each adorned with a black and white photo of the library and the words: 'A Chilling Summer Tale' printed in bold beneath it.

He reached out hesitantly and pulled one of the newsletters from the rack, glancing over the article. Doors opening and closing on their own, items being found in strange places, and the brush of a hand over your shoulder when there was no one else around.

Matthew shoved the paper back into the rack and struggled out of the crowd, his heart pounding and eyes darting to every shadow. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't panic.

_I don't believe in ghosts,_ he told himself firmly. _I don't…_

Regardless, he started to jog towards the club room. Tino would be there, and he could tell Matthew if the library was really haunted or not.

* * *

When he pushed open the blue door, Matthew was struck by how empty the room felt. Normally there were fifteen or twenty other children sitting on the patterned beanbag chairs reading quietly, or gathered into a circle, discussing whatever novel they'd been set that week. Today there was barely over a handful.

Tino was sitting at a low table with a small, dark-haired boy who Matthew knew was named Roderich, and who had just moved here from somewhere in eastern Europe. The boy was practicing his English, reading aloud from the book in front of him and pausing after every sentence to look up at Tino, who would either nod or repeat a word that he'd gotten wrong.

Matthew walked up beside them and tugged on Tino's sleeve to get his attention. Tino looked over in surprise and it took a moment for his eyes to zone in on Matthew, but when they did his face broke into a smile.

"Hello," Matthew said quietly, not wanting to disturb the others in the room.

"Hello Matti," Tino replied. "I'm glad you could join us today, I know your parents are both really busy. I'm helping Rurik right now," he said as he motioned to Roderich beside him. "But I'll be free to help you in a little bit if you need anything."

Roderich was staring at him over the rim of his glasses with an expression halfway between confusion and irritation at the interruption. Roderich could be quite snappy at times, and Matthew shrunk under his glare, but he really needed to know!

"Is the library haunted?" he blurted out.

For an instant, Tino's face morphed into an expression of surprise, but then his smile came back as though it had never been disturbed. "Well, there have been some strange things happening lately, but I don't know if it's a ghost or not. Why did you ask, are you scared of them Matti?"

"I…" Matthew began, but he didn't know what he should say. If he said yes then that was as good as admitting to himself that they existed, and he didn't want them to exist. And yet, he couldn't just say no either.

He was saved from answering when Roderich cleared his throat, pulling Tino's attention away from him, but not before the librarian gave Matthew a small, apologetic smile.

Matthew turned away in disappointment. It looked like he wouldn't get an answer out of Tino, at least for the moment. With nothing better to do than read, he made his way over to his favourite beanbag; the one covered in small red maple leaves.

But there was already someone sitting on it.

Matthew stared in surprise at the back of the boy's head. This had never happened before, and he wasn't sure what to do. If it had been someone he recognized, Matthew would have asked him to move, but Matthew didn't know anyone his age with hair the same colour as fresh fallen snow.

The boy was leaning over, one pale arm outstretched towards an unattended lunchbox. His fingers dipped into the case, extracting a slice of apple that the boy quickly shoved into his mouth. He then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed and wiped his fingers on the rough-looking brown fabric of his shorts.

He didn't catch sight of Matthew standing directly behind him, and so reached out and stole another piece of apple.

"You shouldn't do that," Matthew said quietly, not really expecting the other boy to hear him, but feeling that it was something that needed to be stated regardless.

However, the boy froze at the sound of his voice and then whipped around, looking straight up into Matthew's eyes.

Matthew stared back, suddenly unable to breathe.

The boy's eyes were red as blood.

It was like being underwater. Time seemed to slow down as they stared at each other. Noises faded into the background until they all but disappeared, even the soft cadence of Roderich's voice vanished, words undecipherable.

Then, slowly, the boy rose to his feet and stretched out his hand.

Matthew watched with horrified curiosity as the pale fingers paused just in front of his green T-shirt, right over his heart.

His mind was screaming for him to run, but just as in the stacks his body wouldn't obey. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep from shaking.

"My lunch!" came a loud complaining voice and Matthew's eyes snapped back open. The other sounds of the room returned in a rush; the scrape of table legs on the floor; the soft whisper of pages turning; a surprised murmur.

A Chinese boy was holding the lunchbox the pale boy had stolen from, scowl on his face. "Mr. Tino, someone took my food!"

The pale hand before Matthew's chest dropped slightly as the boy turned his red eyes back towards the disturbance.

Matthew ran.

Out the blue door. Left. Past the women's washroom. Into the stacks.

Footsteps pounded after him.

He didn't turn to see who was chasing him. He didn't want to know. Matthew only pushed himself on faster, sliding recklessly around library patrons, the shelves nothing but a blur.

He burst into the small, bright lounge where he had found his Papa last time. But, of course, he wasn't here. Matthew kept going, ignoring the shrieking of the small children playing hopscotch on the colourful rug.

The footsteps were getting closer.

He was back in the adult section now, with the tall shelves that cut the light from the windows into ribbons and scattered them through the rows. There were fewer people in this part of the library. His bag was pounding against his back with every step, racing in time with his heart, and his lungs burned. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep up this pace for much longer.

"Hey!" called an unfamiliar voice from behind him. "Slow down, would you?"

Matthew couldn't help it. He looked back over his shoulder.

The red-eyed boy was half a row behind him, running hard. "Look out!" he shouted.

Matthew turned back just in time to see a small round table and chair set near the window before he careened into them, sending both them, and himself to the floor with a crash.

~oOo~

**Translations**

_Oui_: Yes

_Très bien_: Very well / All right

_Merci, mon petit chou_: Thank you, my little cabbage. (Because French terms of endearment are awesome!)

**Here we are with chapter three! Think of it as an early Christmas present from me to all of you! :D**

**I wanted to thank Defenestration, Zoewinter1 and Phayzer for their reviews on chapter two, reading them makes me smile every time! I also want to thank all those who favorited and/or followed this story. THANK YOU!  
**

**I had originally thought this chapter would cover more, but it started screaming "cut me here!" and who am I to disobey the story? :)  
**

**Did anyone spot Kumajiro in this chapter? He's there, just in a slightly different form than he normally takes.  
**

**Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!**


	4. The Other Invisible Boy

Though small, the table that came crashing down on Matthew's side was heavy, made of real wood rather than the veneered particleboard found in the children's section.

The air left his lungs with a _whoosh_ and he gasped for breath, wedged between the top of the table and the equally hard ribbing of the chair back that had gone down under him when they fell. Matthew whimpered and blinked away tears as he tried to shift the table off of himself. The legs were all in bad places, either too high up for him to reach with one of his arms pinned uselessly beneath his body, or too low for him to gain any leverage. He grabbed the leg cutting across his thigh anyway and tried to lift it.

It rose away easily, and kept rising even as Matthew lost his grip on the wood. Before he even had time to grasp the meaning of this, the table clattered to the ground off to the side and someone threaded their arms under his and dragged him off the chair. Their head was bowed just in front of his nose, and his vision was suddenly full of white hair. He panicked and tried to struggle free, but a sharp pain shooting up the side of his leg stilled his movement and left him blinking away tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

He was dragged several feet away from the table, around shards of a reading lamp's glass shade that he hadn't even heard break, before being propped up against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Matthew was finally released.

The white-haired boy sat back on his heels before him, the sunlight streaming in through the tinted window making his skin and hair glow a pale blue. "_Verdammt!_ Are you okay?" the boy asked, his voice tense. He patted Matthew's cheek sharply as though to rouse him out of sleep. "Come on, say something."

Matthew opened his mouth, but no words came out, only a small, strangled sob. He hunched his shoulders and looked down, trying to disappear. It was strange; trying to vanish. He should have been ecstatic: someone had _seen_ him! But all he wanted to do was sink through the blue glass at his back.

"_Verdammt!_" the boy said again. He reached out with his left hand and brushed the bangs that framed Matthew's face and pressed his palm against Matthew's forehead.

Matthew recoiled at the contact and started to twist away. This was too much for him; the sudden fright, the chase, the pain of the table landing on him, and now he was trapped. Pinned to the glass like a butterfly on a board. The warmth of the hand on his brow made his head spin and he found himself wishing that it were cold.

Suddenly, Matthew stopped trying to turn away and his eyes grew wide. The boy's hands were _warm._

Would a ghost's hands be warm? He'd seen enough scary movies with his brother to know that the answer was almost definitely no.

The hand left his forehead and gently pulled Matthew back so that he had no choice but to look up into the red eyes that had haunted his dreams for the past several nights.

They didn't seem as frightening set into a face furrowed with concern.

For the first time, Matthew was able to look past the colour of the eyes, and truly see their owner. He realized that the other boy didn't look much older than himself, a year or two at most. His face was angular, with only a hint of the roundness associated with youth. Messy hair fell across his brow in feathery, angled bangs that gleamed in the light. His shirt looked like something out of an old movie, white with a low collar, half covering a red ribbon tied in a loose bow. Set on the knot of the bow was a black iron cross, each of its arms the same length and bordered by a thin silver leafing.

"Who… are you?" Matthew asked numbly. He was still wary of this stranger, though his abject fear was slowly draining away.

The boy sighed in relief and then his face broke into a cheeky grin. "I'm the awesome guy who just saved you. You know, for someone so small you sure can run. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to catch up with you."

That wasn't what Matthew wanted to know. "No," he said, shaking his head. "What's your name?"

The boy seemed taken aback and his grin faltered slightly. "Oh… It's Gilbert."

"I'm Matthew," Matthew replied softly. He looked over to the overturned table and chair and winced. "Why were you chasing me?"

"Why were you running?" Gilbert asked right back.

Matthew hesitated before looking back up at him. "I-"

"What happened here?" exclaimed a woman's voice. Matthew and Gilbert both jumped slightly at the interruption and looked over to where a librarian had come out of one of the nearby rows. It was the same brown-haired woman Matthew had seen the week before, the one with the small yellow flowers in her hair.

She was staring at the overturned furniture and broken lamp angrily, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "If I find the person who did this I'll clobber them!" she muttered, stomping towards the mess. Gilbert shuffled out of her way, pressing his back against the window next to Matthew.

Matthew pulled his legs up against his chest and bit down on his lip, watching the librarian carefully. She had sounded serious when she made that threat, and he didn't want to get in trouble. _Don't make a sound,_ he told himself. _Just be quiet and it will be fine._

She didn't see him.

No, there was something else too. Matthew's head flicked to the side so he could see Gilbert out of the corner of his eye.

She didn't see _them._

Gilbert caught his eye and smirked. "Watch this!" he whispered and then hopped to his feet. To Matthew's horror, he ran up behind the librarian and grabbed hold of the hem of her skirt as she bent down to right the chair. With a flick of his arms, Gilbert caused the skirt to billow upward, revealing a pair of shapely legs and a glimpse of blue panties.

The librarian shrieked and dropped the chair, her hands automatically flying to push down her skirt. She spun around, red-faced in either anger or embarrassment — or perhaps a bit of both, Matthew couldn't tell — and Gilbert danced away, clutching his sides in laughter. He didn't try to be quiet or subtle, boldly reaching forward to flick her dress up a second time, this time from the side.

To Matthew's amazement, the librarian continue to spin frantically in her search for the culprit, at one point staring straight at Gilbert without seeming to see _or_ hear him. If Matthew tried that he would be caught for sure. Unnoticeable or not, he could never seem to hide if someone was actually _looking_ for him. Or looking for someone even more invisible than himself it seemed, because after another full circuit the librarian's eyes finally snapped onto him.

"You!" the woman exclaimed, sounding flustered. "Where did you come from?"

Matthew gave her what he hoped was an innocent smile and pointed down the nearest row.

"Well, young man, it isn't very nice to play pranks on people!" she scolded. Her face was fixed in a frightening scowl, that made Matthew's insides crawl with apprehension and his heart sank when he realized she was blaming him for Gilbert's actions.

"I didn't-" Matthew tried to protest, but he was cut off.

"I don't want to hear your excuses!" she said sharply, marching to his side though her eyes still darted around nervously. "Now let's go find your parents and let them know what you've been up to."

Gilbert stopped laughing and looked between Matthew and the librarian several times. His mouth drew down into a small frown and his brow crinkled as the librarian reached for Matthew's arm, intending to haul him to his feet.

Matthew glowered at him, his mouth in a matching frown. This wasn't fair at all!

_Do something!_ Matthew beseeched silently, staring straight into Gilbert's eyes. Since the boy was the one who got him into this mess, he should be the one to get him out of it again.

The message must have come across because Gilbert reached up and tapped the woman on the shoulder just as her hand closed around Matthew's arm. She let go instantly and whipped around so fast that Gilbert stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his rear, a surprised sound escaping his throat.

As soon as her back was turned, Matthew staggered to his feet and crept into the stacks. His right leg was still sore, but he could manage well enough, even if he walked with a slight limp. Behind him, he could hear the librarian start to panic, muttering thing in a language he didn't recognize. Fortunately, it seemed she was too busy sorting through her own thoughts to bother searching for him.

When he'd made it halfway to the atrium he stopped and leaned against the stack, careful to keep his weight off his leg. Today was turning out to be stranger than he could have ever imagined. When he woke up that morning, he had expected some sort of suspicious occurrence in the library, maybe involving flickering lights or a door or two slamming shut on their own; the kind of things that were always happening in the ghost movies his brother insisted on them watching. He wasn't expecting to meet someone even more unnoticeable than himself. It had unsettled him, watching Gilbert prank that librarian. She'd clearly been unable to see or hear him, yet to Matthew he appeared as solid and real as his father or brother. And Gilbert could obviously interact with the world, if not he wouldn't have been able to lift the table off of Matthew, or flip up the librarian's skirt.

Matthew knocked his head against the shelf and looked up at the fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling. There were so many things that didn't make sense.

The subject of his confused thoughts trotted around the corner moments later, grinning like a madman. "Ha! Did you see her face? That was great!"

"Gilbert, are you a ghost?" Matthew asked bluntly, bringing his eyes back down from the ceiling. "Because I can't decide if I should still be afraid of you or not."

"A ghost?" Gilbert stopped mid-stride. One of his hands moved to the cross at his neck and stroked the metal arms as his brow furrowed in thought. "Oh," a look of realization lit his face. "Is that why you ran away from me before?"

"Yes," Matthew replied softly, wondering if Gilbert would feel insulted by his answer.

If he was, he didn't show it. "A ghost!" he chuckled, before throwing his head back and laughing. "_Herrgott!_ Matthew, where did you come up with that? I'm pretty sure I'm still alive. Here, listen!"

Without any other warning, Gilbert stepped up to Matthew and pulled him forward, pushing down on his shoulders slightly so the side of Matthew's head was pressed against his chest.

Matthew tensed at the sudden contact and tried to push Gilbert off, but a pair of pale arms were wrapped around his head and shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

"What are you doing? Let go!" he demanded.

"Quit struggling and just _listen_ for a sec."

_Listen to what?_ Matthew wanted to shout, but he bit his tongue and forced his body to still. At first he didn't know what he was supposed to be listening _for._ But as he stood there, he slowly became aware of a steady drumming from within Gilbert's chest. His eyes widened and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"You see," Gilbert said, letting him go. "My heart's beating, so I can't be dead. And if I'm not dead, I can't be a ghost."

Matthew couldn't argue against that kind of logic. Still, he backed up so there was once again some space between them and wrapped his arms around himself protectively. "But then, why did that woman act like you were invisible?"

Gilbert shrugged, a grin growing on his face. "I could ask you the same thing, I wasn't expecting her to notice you in the end. I guess it just means that you aren't quite as awesome as me."

Matthew was struck by a sudden wave of pity; for this strange looking boy and himself. "Being invisible isn't awesome," he whispered sadly, his lips barely moving.

Gilbert must have caught the end of the whisper because he tilted his head in Matthew's direction and asked, "Who isn't awesome?" His grin had faded and his face soured, as though Matthew had just insulted his favourite band.

"Never mind, it wasn't important. I was just talking to myself," Matthew answered quickly, slightly unnerved by Gilbert's sudden change of expression.

"Come on Mattie," Gilbert whined. "Don't be like that. Just tell me!"

There was an edge in Gilbert's tone that made Matthew nervous. "It really wasn't-"

Suddenly, Gilbert was right in front of him, his hands gripping the shelf on either side of Matthew's head. "Who isn't awesome?" he demanded. His red eyes narrowed and he leaned down so that he was looking directly into Matthew's.

Ten minutes ago Matthew would have been intimidated, but now he found himself getting angry. What was Gilbert's problem? He was acting like implying something wasn't awesome was a crime. Matthew pushed Gilbert hard, sending the other boy stumbling away. "Not who; _what!_" he yelled, not caring at this point if anyone else heard him. "I said that being invisible isn't awesome!"

From the surprised look on Gilbert's face, that hadn't been the answer he was expecting. "What?-"

"You might like it, or find it fun to mess with people, but I can't stand it!" Matthew ranted, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. There was a fire raging in his chest, worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. Gilbert should have been able to understand his pain, they had a similar problem, but Gilbert seemed to _enjoy_ being unnoticed. He called it _awesome!_

"All I want is for people to acknowledge me. Without me having to fight for their attention. My Papa tells me that it's not my fault, and that I shouldn't let it make me sad…" Matthew's voice shook, but he kept going. "But every time their eyes pass over me it hurts. Like someone drove a spike through my chest. And it makes me wonder if I exist at all. Maybe I'm the ghost, and even now I'm only pretending to be alive!"

Gilbert looked like he was about to bolt, he was shifting his weight between his feet, his entire body tense. Matthew's dropped his eyes to the floor, his voice now barely over a whisper. "That's why I always told myself that ghosts don't exist," he admitted, more to himself than to the other boy. "Because if they did… then I would be one of them."

He couldn't stop the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. They landed on the lenses of his glasses, making the dark floor look warped and blurry. A pair of knee-high socks stepped into his vision, and then Matthew found himself looking down at a head of white hair for the second time.

"Mattie, calm down," Gilbert said softly, his ear pressed to the soft fabric to Matthew's shirt. "Don't worry, you're alive. See, your heart's beating, just like mine. You're not a ghost."

The fire within Matthew's chest flickered and then cooled, leaving him numb. He let his head droop until it nearly touched the crest of Gilbert's head. His hair smelt the same as the library, of old paper and dust. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

Gilbert straightened with a small sigh and a shake of his head. "You don't need to apologize."

"Gilbert," Matthew asked. "Do you ever feel lonely?"

He didn't miss the look of exhaustion that swept over Gilbert's face, making his skin even paler than it already was. It lasted only a moment, replaced by a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You can see me," he said simply.

"But I'm only one person."

"You are."

They fell into a long silence, neither able to meet the other's eyes. It was awkward, and Matthew searched for something to say to fill the void. Gilbert's stomach beat him to it however, giving a loud grumbling growl.

"Hey, Mattie," Gilbert said, almost meekly. "Do you have anything to eat on you? I'm starving."

"Even after eating Yao's lunch?" Matthew asked, grateful for the change in subject. He thought of the apple slices Gilbert had stolen earlier.

"I didn't eat all of it!" Gilbert protested. "Besides, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Didn't your parents pack you a lunch?"

Gilbert gave him a strange look. "My parents? No… they didn't."

There was something odd about that, Matthew thought. "Well, I do have some food, but it needs to last me until my father picks me up this afternoon."

Gilbert looked disappointed. "Oh."

"Buuuut, I guess I could share it with you. Since you did help pull that table off me."

"Really?" Gilbert instantly brightened. "_Tausend Dank_, Mattie! You're a lifesaver."

"But just this once!" Matthew insisted, crossing his arms. "And why do you keep calling me Mattie?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Can't I?"

"I don't really mind," Matthew admitted. It was already sort of his nickname thanks to Tino, and it was ten times better than being called 'boy' or 'kid', which often happened when he wasn't remembered.

"_Wunderbar_! Come on then, I'll show you my favourite place to sit and then we can eat." Gilbert turned and started walking towards the atrium, motioning for Matthew to follow with his hand. Matthew limped after him, his leg still sore.

The atrium continued to buzz with activity and hushed voices as people milled around the space, every once in a while disappearing into the stacks. Matthew thought they were heading for the dais, and so was caught off guard when Gilbert veered to the side, making for one of the staircases leading up to the second floor.

Matthew had only been to the upper levels once or twice before with his Papa. All the books up there were on finance or politics or history; dry topics that didn't hold his attention when he could be reading about the adventures of a banished prince or a magical palace.

As they climbed the stairs — or in Matthew's case, limped up them — he noticed that Gilbert stuck close beside him and watched him carefully, as though afraid he might trip and fall. The unasked for attention made Matthew's chest feel light and he found himself smiling.

"Gilbert," he asked once they'd reached the second floor. "I was wondering, what language you were speaking before?"

Gilbert was leading them along the railing looking down into the atrium, but he paused and looked back. "Other language?"

"You didn't notice?"

Gilbert shook his head. "No."

"Oh." It didn't come as too much of a surprise to Matthew. His Papa tended to slip into French without realizing it either when he was upset or anxious. "I was just thinking that you have the same accent as Roderich, so I was wondering if you knew German."

Gilbert laughed. "Maaaybe," he sang before turning into the stacks.

The shelves here were lined with encyclopedias; huge things that Matthew wasn't sure he'd be able to lift if he tried. As they continued further, the artificial lights overhead gave way to sunlight streaming in through the massive windows. They came to a small lounge consisting of nothing more than three armchairs that had definitely seen better days. Their brown fabric had faded from long hours in the light and was now a pale mocha. Outside stretched the library's garden: an expanse of green, dotted with the bright reds and yellows of flowers and the even brighter squares of blankets where there were a number of families eating out of picnic baskets, soaking in the sun.

Gilbert settled into one of the chairs, and patted the arm of the one next to him, inviting Matthew to sit.

"I don't think we're supposed to eat here," Matthew said, looking over at the 'no food or drink' sign screwed to the wall nearby.

"Aww, come on. We won't get in trouble, I promise!"

"You won't," Matthew mumbled, but he sat down anyway and pulled his bag off his shoulders. He took a moment to run a hand over the polar bear's soft head before fiddling with the zipper set in the bear's back.

"What is that?" asked Gilbert, staring at the bag.

"Oh, this? His name is Kuma…" Matthew felt his face redden as he tried to remember the name he'd given the bear. He surreptitiously peeked at the underside of one of the straps where there was a name written in Sharpie. "Kumajiro," he read, then added, "My Papa gave him to me last Christmas." He'd been so happy when he opened the gift. Polar bears, and bears in general, were his favourite animals, and so to have a bag shaped like one that he could bring everywhere with him had seemed the best thing in the world. Sometimes, when he was feeling lonely he would talk to it as though it were alive, though he'd never admit that out loud, especially to his brother, who would tease him relentlessly if he knew.

Gilbert merely nodded, and then watched as Matthew pulled out several Ziploc containers. He opened the largest one which contained a sandwich. His Papa had already cut the thick French bread in half for him, so he didn't need to fuss with it before handing half to Gilbert. "Here. Its ham and cheese. I also have some peppers and carrots," he said, popping off the lid of the other containers.

Gilbert wasted no time in taking a large bite. "Its good," he said after swallowing.

"Thanks. My Papa's a chef in a restaurant, so he gets lots of practice."

They ate in silence after that. It didn't take long for them to finish off Matthew's lunch; Gilbert was almost inhaling the food he was eating so fast.

_He really must have been hungry,_ Matthew mused, stealing several of the peppers and moving them out of Gilbert's reach so the pale boy wouldn't get all of them. It was a near thing, though, and Matthew was glad that he'd had a large breakfast that morning.

After he'd put the containers back into Kumajiro's back and pulled the zipper closed, Matthew glanced up at the clock. It was almost three-thirty in the afternoon. "We should go back to the club room," he said. "Tino might notice that I'm not there and start to worry."

"But it's so boring in there!" Gilbert grumbled, crossing his arms defiantly. "All they do is read."

Matthew sighed. "This is a library. What else do you expect us to do?"

A devious grin suddenly split Gilbert's face. "There are plenty of things we can do Mattie, none of which involve books."

That sounded ominous, and though Matthew had a pretty good idea what Gilbert was talking about, he wasn't sure it he wanted to find out if he was right. "Well, I'm going back," he stated, not leaving any room for argument in his tone.

Gilbert ran a hand through his hair. "Fine," he relented, much to Matthew's surprise. "We'll go to your room. But if there's no uproar about you missing then we're leaving to do something else, got it?"

"But!-"

"No buts! I promise it'll be fun. Have a little faith in me will ya?"

Matthew didn't want to give in, but the sheer elation of finally being able to interact with another person normally — even if that other person was in no way normal — broke down his resistance. "Fine," he said, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into.

Gilbert gave an excited _whoop_ and jumped to his feet. "I'll race you there!" he shouted before darting away, back towards the stairs. Matthew watched him go with a small shake of his head and then gingerly found his feet and slid his arms through Kumajiro's straps before following at an easy pace.

"I totally beat you," Gilbert declared when Matthew finally reached the clubroom's blue door. Matthew pointed to his leg silently in response where a bruise was starting to creep out from beneath his shorts to paint the side of his knee blue. Gilbert winced and sucked a breath in through his teeth. "_Verdammt_, it really did get you good."

Matthew pulled up the hem of his shorts slightly so that more of the bruise was exposed. "And think, if you hadn't chased me, I wouldn't have knocked over that table."

Gilbert scoffed at that. "Well, if you hadn't run, I wouldn't have chased you."

"Well, if you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run!"

"Frightened you? All I was going to do was ask if you could really see me, or not. After waking up here with no-" he suddenly cut off and quickly turned away, but not before Matthew caught the strange look straining his face. "Anyway, we're here now. Let's go see if they've missed you or not." Gilbert pushed the door open and stalked inside before Matthew could ask him what he had meant.

As it turned out, Tino hadn't noticed Matthew run out of the room earlier. Apparently there had been some mayhem over the missing food, which started with Yao interrogating everyone, including Tino, and ended with he and one of his cousins getting into a huge fight that not only got them sent home, but resulted in the club meeting ending early. Matthew learned all this from Lili, a small blond girl who was a year or two younger than himself and just as quiet. She was the only person left in the room, and was reading quietly in a corner while she waited for her parents to come pick her up. It had taken a minute for him to actually get her attention, and even when she finally looked up, he wasn't sure if she recognized him or not.

After thanking her, Matthew followed Gilbert back out the door, closing it softly behind him. Gilbert was looking smug and had a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat. "So," he said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Here's what we're going to do!"

For the next hour and a half, Matthew trailed after Gilbert as he haunted — for there was no other word Matthew could think of that matched what they were doing — the patrons of the library. Gilbert laughed the entire time, and after a while even Matthew found himself giggling at the faces people made when Gilbert opened a door right as they were reaching for the handle, or at how they would rush away — not quite running — when he brushed them in an otherwise deserted row or tapped them on the shoulder. If Matthew hadn't been able to see Gilbert, he would have found the occurrences they were causing in the library terrifying, maybe even enough so that he would have refused to visit that branch ever again, reading contest or not.

As Gilbert sent a middle-aged man scurrying meek as a mouse down the row they were currently in, Matthew paused and looked around. This was the adult section. The red eye he'd seen in the stacks came back to the forefront of his mind and he shivered. It had been the same colour and shape as Gilbert's, and Matthew admitted to himself that it was just _easier_ to think of it as having belonged to his new friend. Because, he realized, that is what Gilbert had become despite having only known him for an hour or two.

_But what if it wasn't,_ his mind prompted. _You should have found him on the other side of the stack that day. And what about the voice?_ That was something else that was still bugging Matthew. The voice he'd heard when he first looked down at the title of the leather-bound book had been deep and grating, like two rocks being rubbed together; the voice of a man, not a boy.

_Does that mean that there's something else here?_ He glanced around nervously, feeling the twinge of adrenaline building in his chest. He wondered if he should ask Gilbert about it, but then dismissed the idea. Everything had turned out all right so far. No doubt everything would work out in the end.

They were doing a lap of the atrium when Matthew's eye caught on the library newsletter rack. It looked much emptier than it had been earlier that morning, no doubt due to the title article combined with Gilbert's current reign of terror sparking interest in the other library patrons. Matthew snagged one as they went past and looked over the article once more, in more detail this time. All the phenomenon listed matched what they'd been doing. _Doors opening and closing, check. Ghostly touches, check. Items being moved or reorganized, check. Food going missing, check._ Matthew rolled his eyes at that last one. Gilbert went after food like a man starved, even after having eaten half his lunch. He was almost as bad as Alfred, who could empty out the snack cupboard in an afternoon if no one stopped him.

"Over the past four days…" Matthew read the opening sentence again and then paused in thought. Four days ago would be the day after his previous visit to the library. He looked up to find Gilbert trotting in his direction, a flustered crowd of teens squawking behind him. "Hey, Gilbert. Is all the stuff in here you?"

Matthew read the middle part of the article and Gilbert laughed in amazement. "You mean they wrote something about my haunting skills? Ha, I guess this is just further proof of my awesomeness!"

"So you've only been doing this for the past four days?"

Gilbert looked down at his hands and counted something off on his fingers. "That sounds about right," he said eventually.

"What were you doing before?" Matthew asked innocently.

Gilbert's eyes opened wide and then darted around, as though searching for the answer. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally blurted out: "It's a secret."

"No fair!" Matthew whined. "Why won't you tell me?"

Gilbert, however, seemed to have recovered. "It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you," he teased before running off again, leaving Matthew to play catch up.

The next time Matthew paused was when he looked up at the clock on the wall and realized that it was already five o'clock. Panicking slightly, he'd grabbed Gilbert and dragged him in the direction of the main entrance. Standing just inside the automatic doors, Matthew scanned the parking lot, but he didn't see Arthur's blue Acura anywhere. So, despite Gilbert's grumbled protests, Matthew sat them down on one of the benches in the entrance to wait.

"Do you really need to leave?" Gilbert asked sullenly.

Matthew sighed and nodded his head. He wished he could stay longer; he'd had more fun with Gilbert today than he'd had with anyone in a long, long time, but home was home and he couldn't just _not_ go.

However, twenty minutes later they were still sitting on that same bench and Arthur had yet to appear.

"I hope he didn't forget to pick me up again…" Matthew worried. It had happened before, not often thankfully, but sometimes Arthur got distracted by something and would forget what time it was. Unless it was time for tea, for some odd reason that never seemed to escape him.

"Do you live far away?" Gilbert asked, swinging his feet back and forth.

"Not really," Matthew admitted. "But I'm not supposed to walk places on my own."

Gilbert hummed in thought, then clapped his hands together. "I could go with you, and then you wouldn't be on your own."

The thought hadn't occurred to Matthew, and despite its appeal, he still hesitated. "But won't your parents be looking for you?"

"It'll be fine," Gilbert said, waving off his concern.

Matthew wondered if it really would, but Gilbert looked determined. "First I want to try and call them," he said.

"Call?" Gilbert asked.

"On the phone," Matthew explained, pointing to the reference desk and rising to his feet.

Matthew didn't recognize the librarian working the desk, but the man was kind enough to let him use the phone once he'd explained that he was missing his ride. The phone cord wasn't very long, so Matthew needed to stand on the tips of his toes as he listened to the phone ringing in his ear. It rang, and rang, and rang, until it finally clicked over to the answering machine. Matthew pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it, as though the plastic receiver might explain itself. There should have been someone home by now, so why was no one picking up?

He handed the receiver back to the librarian without leaving a message. The man didn't comment on the lack of conversation that had gone on over the call, but instead turned back to whatever he was doing on the computer with only a small nod in Matthew's direction.

"Well?" Gilbert asked once they put some distance between themselves and the desk.

"No one picked up…"

"So, are we going to walk, or just stand around here waiting some more?"

Matthew sighed. He might get in trouble for what he was about to do, but it was hard to be too apprehensive with Gilbert bouncing around in front of him. "I guess we can walk."

It really wasn't all that far to his house, just a little over six blocks into suburbs sprawled to the South side of the library. The sun was shining bright in the western sky, dampened every once in a while by an errant cloud passing in front of its face, making the slight breeze that tickled the leaves of the hedge maples planted along the road suddenly seem colder.

Despite his misgivings, it was liberating to walk along like this, without an adult or his brother by his side. Gilbert was walking a few paces ahead of him, and was gaping at the houses, which Matthew found somewhat strange, as they were the same models found everywhere in these suburbs. He didn't get to think any further on this, however, as Gilbert suddenly veered to the side and stepped out onto the street.

"Gilbert!" Matthew yelped, watching as the tail end of rush hour traffic whipped by the pale boy. "You can't walk there! Come back!"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked back just as a bus flew past. Matthew's hands flew up to cover his mouth as he watched Gilbert stagger from the wind riding the bus' wake, and nearly fall in front of a green minivan. Flailing his arms, Gilbert managed to right himself at the last second and then rushed back to the sidewalk, standing so close to Matthew that their sides were nearly pressed together. "W-what are those things?" he asked, unable to hide the slight quaver in his voice.

Matthew took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "The cars?"

Gilbert rolled the word around in his mouth several times, as though tasting it for the first time. "How do they move like that? What's pulling them?"

"Nothing's pulling them," Matthew replied, watching Gilbert carefully. There was something very strange about this. "How can you not know what a car is? They're _everywhere_."

Gilbert looked nervous again and his eyes darted away. "I… It's just that…" he suddenly threw back his head, grabbing his hair in both fists. "_Verdammt_, this is so frustrating!"

"Gilbert?" Matthew took a small step away, startled by his sudden outburst.

"J-just ignore that," Gilbert pleaded. "It's nothing."

"But how can I-?"

"Please," Gilbert said so softly that Matthew almost missed it. He sounded almost frightened.

"All right," Matthew replied, though he couldn't help but worry.

* * *

"And now for the hard part," Matthew said uneasily five minutes later. He hadn't been looking forward to this part of the journey home, when they needed to cross the main thoroughfare for cars entering or leaving the neighbourhood.

"Why?" Gilbert asked, still sounding subdued.

Matthew smiled at him gently, hoping that he'd soon go back to his normal upbeat self. "Well, normally drivers will stop for pedestrians crossing the road," he explained. "But most of the time they don't see me and just keep going. I've nearly been hit about four or five times now, which is why Papa doesn't let me walk places on my own. And… I guess you being here won't really help with that at all," he added as an afterthought.

Gilbert studied the cars weaving through the four-way stop in front of them. "And it would hurt to be hit."

"Gilbert, if we get hit then we'll probably be dead."

His mouth made a perfect 'o' and then he continued to study the flow of the traffic. "Well, then I guess we'd better not get hit."

It was a task easier said than done. Much as Matthew had anticipated, the drivers were all so intent on getting home after a full day at work that none of them so much as glanced in his direction as he and Gilbert stood on the corner, waiting for a lull in the traffic. It was like looking for lightning on a clear day. It seemed impossible that there should always be at least one person on this particular stretch of road, but clearly reality disagreed with him as both cars and trucks rumbled by in a steady stream.

"There's a gap coming up on my side," Gilbert said, pointing down the road.

"Well, it's a start," Matthew sighed. Right after the grey pickup Gilbert had spotted passed by, Matthew grabbed his hand and they rushed onto the road, pausing at the centreline. "You look at the cars coming straight and I'll look for those that are turning," he instructed, and Gilbert gave his hand a light squeeze to let him know he understood.

"I'm clear," Gilbert said a moment later.

"All right, so am I."

They finished the crossing just as a car whipped through the intersection, horn blaring as it passed behind them and Matthew tried not to jump at the sudden loud noise. "They really need to put in a crosswalk," the muttered under his breath, watching as the car vanished down the street, going faster than it probably should.

"I can see why your _vater_ worries," Gilbert remarked drily, also watching the car.

Matthew huffed, slightly irritated that his Papa had been proven right once again. "Come on, we're almost there. I live on the next street over."

"I can't wait to see what your house looks like!" Gilbert laughed and rushed ahead. He stopped at the corner and looked both ways. "Hey, Mattie. What kind of car is that?" he called, pointing at something down the street.

Matthew felt a sudden sense of foreboding. He rushed to Gilbert's side, ignoring the pain in his leg as best he could.

In the middle of his street, looming over a crowd of people, was a firetruck.

~oOo~

**Translations:**

_Verdammt!_: Damn it!

_Herrgott!_: Good Lord/God!

_Tausend Dank_: Thanks a million

_Wunderbar_: Wonderful

_Vater_: Father

**Phew, so here's the fourth chapter done, which is, insanely, nearly the same length as the three previous combined. After I got to 3000 words, it was like my word counter exploded and all of a sudden I found myself over 6500 words without even trying... Very strange. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this long chapter where we finally get to see some interaction between Matthew and Gilbert!**

**Thanks to Mudcat, Shiralala, Zoewinter1 and an unnamed Guest for their reviews on chapter 3, and to all those who have favorited or followed this story so far! I hope that you guys continue to enjoy it. **

**Concerning the other languages used: I don't speak German, so if any of you do, and find something strange in my use of it, it would be great if you could let me know so I can fix it. :)**

**I've also noticed that there seems to be a bit of confusion over Matthew's age (maybe based around the descriptions of his height?). Though Matthew is eleven, he's really short, only 4'3" (131 cm), so when I describe him doing things in relation to his surroundings it seems like he's younger than he really is. **

**Anyway, Happy (slightly belated) New Year, and if you find yourselves with a spare moment leave a review with your thoughts on the story so far!**


	5. There Was a Crooked Old Man

The firetruck sat in the centre of the road, its broad flank a great red wall that blocked the houses behind it from view. Its nose was swung out over the centreline, leaving only enough room for a single car to sneak past. Or at least there would have been if not for the crowd. They were gathered just beyond the cab, like moths drawn to the flashing emergency lights. It seemed like the entire street had come out, even from a distance Matthew recognized his neighbours: the middle-aged woman with her golden retriever who dug holes in their front lawn, and the large family who lived across the street, all four of their children rustling restlessly back and forth between their parents, faces upturned and questions on their lips.

His hand tightened around the fabric of his shorts and he rushed towards the gathering, gritting his teeth at the ache that ran up his right leg with every step.

"Hey, wait up Mattie!" Gilbert called, surprised at the sudden burst of speed. Matthew didn't slow, but Gilbert caught up easily, his longer legs eating up the distance. He slowed to pace Matthew. "So, what is that thing?" he asked again, looking up at the truck as they drew next to it.

"That's a firetruck," Matthew explained, jittering anxiously. "They show up if there's a fire."

To his surprise Gilbert paused and took a deep breath, leaning back slightly so he faced the sky. "I don't smell anything burning," he remarked. "And there isn't any smoke."

Matthew stopped at the edge of the crowd and looked up. Gilbert was right, the sky above them was a vibrant blue, cut every once in a while by long clouds snaking their way towards the horizon. There were no pillars of black smoke, and the air smelt of fresh cut grass and the small purple flowers that were popular among gardeners in the neighbourhood.

Despite these reassurances, a knot of apprehension continued to twist within Matthew's chest, not calming until they had skirted the crowd and he could finally see his house standing placidly in its lot. "_Dieu merci_," he whispered, shoulder's sagging. His relief was so overwhelming that he didn't notice Gilbert trying to get his attention until the other boy tugged at his shirt.

"What are those other cars?" he asked, his eyes turned back the way they'd come.

"What other cars?" Matthew asked, turning. When he saw what had caught Gilbert's attention his breath caught in his throat, and the knot of anxiety in his chest returned. There was an ambulance backed right up onto the curb, its back doors gaping wide. Two firemen stood nearby, almost like guards in their dark blue uniforms. They were speaking to each other with solemn faces, casting glances at the small house nearby, its front door hanging from its hinges at a strange angle. Two other men, these in police uniforms, were holding back the curious bystanders, their own car barely visible from where Matthew and Gilbert stood in the centre of the road.

Matthew could only gape at the scene that had been completely hidden from view behind the firetruck and he looked helplessly at Gilbert, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to order his thoughts.

"You okay?" Gilbert asked in concern.

Matthew nodded and though he couldn't shake the feeling of dread hanging over him, he took a deep, steadying breath. "Something must have happened, those are emergency vehicles."

"Do you think your family's okay?" Gilbert asked, giving a voice to the feelings in Matthew's chest.

He quickly started to scan the crowd. There were so many people, and they were standing so close together that it was hard for Matthew to see anything past the outermost onlookers. He circled back around, standing up on the tips of his toes and let out a shaky breath of relief when he finally spotted Arthur's messy blond hair over near the front of the ambulance. "Come on," he said to Gilbert, before diving into the crowd.

Arthur was still wearing his suit from work, though the blazer was open and he'd loosened the tie in the heat of the afternoon. His gaze was focused fully on the emergency crews and the open doorway of the house across from them. Alfred was standing by his side, and looked over when Matthew tugged on his arm. "Hey," he greeted, catching Arthur's attention as well.

"What's going on?" Matthew asked, keeping one eye on Gilbert, who had given both Alfred and Arthur a once-over before loosing interest. Instead, he cautiously approached the ambulance and after a moment of hesitation reached out to run his hand over the red and white hood.

Arthur looked puzzled. "Weren't you at home?"

"No, I was at the library," Matthew replied. "When you didn't come to pick me up I walked back."

"Ha! I told you he wasn't home," Alfred crowed, looking unaccountably smug. "_Someone_ won't be getting any when Francis hears about this!"

Arthur's cheeks turned bright red and he slapped a hand over Alfred's mouth, looking around in horror. Matthew heard a few people clear their throats awkwardly and Arthur's shoulders drooped. "Don't shout things like that!" he hissed in Alfred's ear before releasing him.

"Well it's true," Alfred muttered, crossing his arms and taking a cautious step away so he wouldn't be silenced again.

When he was sure Alfred would remain quiet, Arthur turned back to Matthew. "I'm sorry, I really was about to come get you but then…" he looked helplessly at the fleet of emergency vehicles. Matthew understood, though there was still a small part of him that was bitter that he had lost out to an emergency crew now that he knew it wasn't his own family who had been affected.

"It's all right, I actually enjoyed the walk," he assured him. It was the truth after all.

"Oh, jolly good then." Relief swept over Arthur's face for an instant before he winced. "Just… don't tell your father," he added seriously, casting a meaningful look at Alfred as well as he said it.

"We should blackmail him," Gilbert cut in suddenly, apparently having had enough of the ambulance. Matthew's eyes widened in shock and it was a struggle to keep them on Arthur. It would look suspicious if he suddenly looked over at — as Arthur would see it — thin air. Gilbert leaned in front of him and chuckled at his stupefied expression before bumping their shoulders together. "Relax, I'm just kidding."

Matthew huffed, though he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from curling up. "I promise," he said to Arthur, who nodded with relief despite the slight delay in Matthew's answer.

Alfred grumbled something about censorship, but he walked over to Matthew and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "Well, if Matthew is fine with it then I _guess_ I'll let you off the hook this time," he relented, though he looked disappointed. He always seemed to be trying to get Arthur into trouble with Francis, but whenever Matthew asked him why, he'd only say something cryptic about how Matthew was lucky that his room wasn't adjacent to theirs before quickly changing the subject. Now it was Arthur's turn to grumble something under his breath, but he quickly turned away and Matthew could tell he was fighting off a blush.

"So, you still haven't told me what's going on," Matthew said, sparing Arthur any further scrutiny by leaning his head back against Alfred's arm so he could look up at his brother's face.

Alfred blinked back down at him before his blue eyes lit up. "Oh right! Well, you know Mr. Balshaw, the old guy who always used to yell at me for messing up his flower beds?"

Matthew nodded. Mr. Balshaw was an old widower who lived two houses down from them… in fact it was his house they were currently standing outside of. Matthew was hit with a sudden wave of concern. His eyes were drawn back in the direction of the widower's house, though from here he could only see the peak of the roof rising above the ambulance's back.

"Yeah, well. There was this funky smell coming from his house," Alfred continued. "And I guess the neighbours called him a bunch to ask about it, but he never picked up, and didn't answer the door either when they went to check on him. So then they called it in, and the firemen came and broke down the door, and guess what they found?"

"What?" Matthew asked with a sinking feeling. He could see Gilbert leaning forward beside him, eager to hear the answer.

"They found him sitting in that ratty old armchair, stone dead!" Alfred's arm had tightened almost painfully around Matthew, and he was gesturing wildly with his free hand.

"Keep your voice down!" Matthew hissed. "People are glaring!"

"Huh?" Alfred looked around as though only just remembering where they were. "But it's the truth."

Arthur came to the rescue then, mouthing a quick _sorry_ to the rest of the adults before turning once again on Alfred. "Alfred, I think its time that you went home," he said firmly, tone not allowing for any argument.

Alfred tried anyway, he always did. "But they haven't taken the body out yet! I wanted to see it!"

"Alfred F. Jones, you will go home **now**!"

To Matthew's great surprise his brother heaved a much-suffering sigh and let the argument drop. "Fine, Old Man, I'm going, I'm going," he said, before turning away towards their own house, dragging Matthew along in his wake.

"Umm," Matthew protested weakly as he was hauled back through the crowd. He looked over his shoulder for Gilbert, but the white-haired boy was already out of sight as the people who stepped aside for Alfred shifted back towards the front, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the uniformed men. Then the road opened up before them and they were suddenly free, the trip taking less than half the time Matthew had spent getting to the ambulance in the first place. They paused briefly and then Alfred was pulling him onward once again, but not towards their house.

"Come on, let's get a closer look!"

So he hadn't intended on going home after all. Matthew tried to wiggle free, but Alfred didn't even seem to notice, so he looked around for Gilbert again and let out a breath of relief when he saw him squeeze out of the crowd. Matthew waved discreetly, keeping his hand down by his waist, but Gilbert had already spotted him and jogged up.

"Your brother is kind of pushy," was all he said, and Matthew smiled ruefully in reply.

Then they were stepping up onto the sidewalk and Alfred was shaking him. "Look, they're coming out!"

The gurney laboured out into the sunlight, two men on each side pushing and pulling it through the narrow doorway and down the front steps. They were moving slowly and carefully though their passenger was long past caring. The old man's corpse was swaddled in a white sheet, and bound to the gurney by long black straps.

"Why isn't he laying flat?" Matthew asked quietly. The corpse looked strangely animated beneath the cloth, limbs frozen reaching upward, as though he was trying to push off the sheet that smothered him.

"Well, he died sitting in a chair, right?" Alfred said thoughtfully, and Matthew was glad that this time he kept his voice down. "So maybe rigor mortis has already set in."

Matthew shivered at the thought and huddled closer to his brother's side. Beside him, Gilbert was watching the grim procession of men silently, his arms wrapped protectively around his body. He looked unnerved and was chewing on his lower lip. The gurney was finally loaded into the ambulance and the doors swung shut with a loud _click._ "Can we go now?" Matthew asked, suddenly not wanting to be there any longer.

"I guess," Alfred said regretfully. He was still watching the paramedics work, but when Matthew tugged against his arm he turned them away, though his eyes lingered on the ambulance. Gilbert trailed after them silently, so lost in thought that Matthew had to keep glancing back to make sure he was keeping up. As they neared the worn white facing of their own house Alfred gained a spring to his step and he ushered Matthew inside hastily, nearly shutting Gilbert outside as he pulled the door closed. Alfred was grinning.

"What are you up to now?" Matthew asked, knowing that grin all too well. It was the same one that Gilbert had worn earlier when he was terrorizing the library patrons.

"Wait here one sec!" Then Alfred had rushed off down the hall and Matthew could hear his feet pounding up the stairs.

"Hey, Gilbert," Matthew asked once he was sure that Alfred was far enough away. "Are you okay? You're so quiet."

Gilbert looked up from where he'd been staring absently at the ground and his eyes were distant. "I just… yes, I'm fine."

"Liar," Matthew whispered sadly as Alfred's thundering footsteps returned. He saw a pained look flash over Gilbert's face, but then everything was obscured by a single, staring eye. "_Merde!"_ he yelped, nearly falling back over himself as he scrambled away.

Alfred promptly burst out laughing. "Lord! Matthew, your face!" He tossed the DVD case in his hand up in the air, letting it twirl once before catching it and holding it up once again. _The Grudge,_ read the small red title below the picture of a woman's face, half shrouded in long, stringy black hair. "Kiku leant me this new movie, and we're going to watch it!"

"Oh," Matthew said weakly, feeling his cheeks heat up. He didn't need to ask what kind of movie it was, even if the cover hadn't made it clear. The only type of movie Kiku ever leant Alfred were scary ones. They were in some sort of competition over who could watch the most scary movies, which was a bit silly in Matthew's opinion considering that Kiku was the only one who had anything scary rated over 18A. All the movies in Matthew's house seemed to be either comedies or romances.

"Come on, we don't have too long before the Old Man comes back! I'll set up the player, and you make the popcorn!"

"But I don't want to watch it with you!" Matthew argued. Normally he wouldn't have had an issue with it, but today…

"What? But you need to! Who else will tell Kiku that I made it through the entire thing?" He waved the DVD case empathetically. "And this might be our only chance! The Old Man will be tied up out there for who knows how long talking to everyone, and when he comes back we can just tell him we're watching a romance or something to take our minds off Mr. Balshaw, so he won't come snooping! Please, brother o' mine!"

Matthew was glad he was standing out of arm's reach, or he might have lost his glasses. "Well I-"

"Let's watch it," Gilbert interrupted.

"I don't think you realize-"

"Let's watch it," he repeated.

"I don't realize what?" Alfred looked puzzled.

Matthew's eyes flicked between the two of them, already forgetting discretion. This seemed to only confuse Alfred more and he started looking around too, though he never noticed Gilbert standing no more than two meters to his left.

"All right, we'll watch it." Matthew said, resigned now to his fate. Two against one wasn't very fair, even if Alfred didn't know that he was getting help. _Traitor._ He glowered at Gilbert, before heading through a doorway to the right, into the kitchen.

"Make sure to use the microwave stuff, not that fancy machine your dad likes, it takes too long!" Alfred called to his retreating back.

Matthew sighed, but dug one of the microwave bags out of a drawer, pulled off the plastic packaging and stuck it in the microwave. Gilbert had followed him and watched intently as he set the timer and pressed 'start'.

"Do you really want to watch the movie?" Matthew asked as they watched the popcorn bag spin round and round. "It's going to be scary you know?"

"Sure, why not," Gilbert replied lightly, though the tone fell flat on Matthew's ears. "Are you worried you'll be scared?"

"Eh? No! I mean probably not…" Matthew's words stumbled clumsily from his mouth. He wasn't sure if he should press Gilbert for what was bothering him. Clearly there was still something wrong, "I just thought that since you're here as a guest, that we might want to do something other than sit in front of a screen for an hour and a half. And besides," he added indignantly, "Alfred's the scared one. Even though he knows that none of the stuff is real, he gets really whiny and clingy and never wants to sleep in his own bed for _days_ after we watch one of Kiku's movies! It's terrible!"

"Oh really?" Gilbert didn't look like he believed him. "So I won't need to run after you this time?"

Matthew sputtered, unable to think up a reply as the microwave beeped in completion and Alfred called him from the den. He could only grumble about there being a difference between movies and life as he poured the popcorn into a bowl and led Gilbert out of the kitchen and down the hall.

~oOo~

**Translations:**

_Dieu merci_: Thank God

_Merde_: Shit

**I'm back! Sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up, I've been trying to wrap my head around the number of projects and assignments I have due this term and lost track of time. I nearly had a heart attack when I looked at may calendar and realized that it was already almost my birthday, because that meant that I hadn't written or posted anything in close to a month!**

**So, here's one chapter, and in the spirit of Hobbiton (wrong series, I know) and of giving out gifts on ones birthday, I'm quite determined to have the next chapter up on the 29th of this month. Come hell or high water!**

**I know a lot of you are probably going: "wait so there wasn't a fire?!" after I had set up the firetruck at the end of the last chapter. Hopefully the lack of fiery destruction isn't anticlimactic, but… well no, if I told you that it would be a spoiler. XD**

**Suffice to say, this chapter is an important one.**

**I want to thank all those who liked and followed, as well as Mudcat, Hornet394, Redwhale6, Konoha–11-are-cool, Lucinda, Phayzer, Defenestration and zoewinter1 for your lovely comments! I'm so sorry it took me so long to reply to them, but I haven't forgotten you!**

**And for those guests (because I feel bad that I can't get back to you in any other way):**

**Mudcat: Oh no, I hope your hand is okay! ;) Arthur is definitely a valid guess for anything involving a firetruck, and in fact he might still get a moment (of flaming glory?) yet! Sorry for making you wait so long for another chapter, and that you'll need to wait even a bit longer for your questions about Gilbert to start to be answered, but we're getting really close!**

**Lucinda: Thank you, I'm glad that you're enjoying it so far! You'll need to sit tight for a little bit longer on what Gilbert is, but I can promise some major hints in the next chapter!**

**Defenestration: Hooray! Thank you so much for the kind words, they make me do a happy-dance whenever I read them! *dances into the distance*** 


	6. Protagonist

"Oh God!" Alfred wailed as the woman in the movie was swallowed whole by her bed.

Matthew winced as the vice grip his brother had on his arm tightened for maybe the tenth time in the past hour. Kiku had really outdone himself with this one, it was pretty much everything that was guaranteed to give Alfred nightmares for weeks. Even Matthew found himself shrinking back from the screen whenever the Grudge started making that croaking sound, deep in the back of her throat.

At least the movie seemed to have distracted Gilbert from whatever had been bothering him earlier. He was sitting on Matthew's right, blanket tucked up around his knees and eyes wide as saucers. Matthew didn't think he had looked away from the movie once; even the popcorn made its way from the bowl to his mouth blindly.

Arthur had returned twenty minutes before, the door in the entranceway audible even over the movie's soundtrack. Matthew had quickly disentangled himself to intercept the man before he could make it to the den. It was part of the brothers' routine, and Matthew didn't have too much trouble convincing Arthur that they were watching a lighthearted movie to take their minds off Mr. Balshaw's death.

"Oh, all right," he had replied wearily, apparently not noticing a particularly loud scream filtering through the walls. "I'll just be upstairs. Let me know when you're done and we'll eat dinner."

Matthew watched until he was sure Arthur would stay upstairs and then returned to his spot on the couch, grabbing the remote as he wiggled back under the blanket and turned the volume down a little, just in case.

* * *

"That movie was awesome!" Alfred gushed once the credits began to roll, sounding brave despite being hidden almost completely beneath the thick knitted blanket. His eyes were peering out from a small space between the folds of fabric, glasses sitting crookedly on the bridge of his nose. As soon as he had started burrowing, both Matthew and Gilbert had found themselves completely exposed. Gilbert hadn't seemed to notice, he was only just now managing to tear his eyes away from the screen to gaze around the room owlishly. Matthew had almost been relieved when the blanket was pulled from him. Alfred and Gilbert combined seemed to give off enough heat to rival a blast furnace.

"You say that every time," Matthew reminded his brother, while rising and picking up the bowl, long empty of popcorn. "And then you have nightmares for a week!"

"I won't this time!" Alfred protested, half coming out of his burrow, his blond hair sticking out in all directions.

Matthew seriously doubted whether there was any truth in that. In fact, he wasn't even sure if his own dreams would escape unscathed considering that he was already plagued with memories of that staring red eye. He glanced over at Gilbert again, and took comfort that at least now he'd be able to associate the colour red with something else; something less scary. "Better hide the DVD," he said to Alfred. "Arthur wanted us to call him for dinner when we were done."

Alfred did a mock salute and then scrambled off the couch as Matthew discreetly motioned to Gilbert that they should leave. "So are you glad we watched the movie now?" he couldn't help but ask once they were out in the hall.

"_Mein Gott,_ I've never seen anything like _that_ before," Gilbert replied, shaking his head. "I think you said it before but… none of that was real, right?" He sounded a little anxious and Matthew couldn't help but smile.

He still didn't understand how Gilbert could be so naive about the things in the world that seemed so mundane that he had always taken them for granted, but maybe that was just how he had been raised so Matthew decided not to question it. He couldn't deny that it bothered him a little, though. "Don't worry, it was all actors and special effects."

"Good," Gilbert replied simply before he slapped his cheeks with both palms and scrunched his eyes up. When he opened them again they looked less glassy and he recovered the small spring in his step that had been missing ever since he'd nearly been struck by that van on the way back from the library. "So, now what?" he queried, bounding into the kitchen ahead of Matthew and looking around at the array of cooking utensils hung almost decoratively along the tiled backsplash. "Do we get to eat?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. How could Gilbert _still_ be hungry? "Yes, we get to eat now."

Dinner consisted of leftovers, as usual. This time it was Chicken Fricassee with tarragon and a light salad, which Francis had brought back from the restaurant the night before. He did all the cooking, as Arthur had long ago been banned from using the stove when it became apparent that he couldn't even boil water without burning it. Matthew still wasn't sure how Arthur had survived bachelorhood, he'd certainly heard the smoke detector go off enough times after they'd first moved in to wonder if the house would soon be falling about his ears in flames. Thankfully such occurrences were rare now, and Arthur had been given an electric kettle to make his tea because it was, as Francis put it fondly: _"à l'épreuve des nuls"_.

While setting the table, Matthew was faced with a dilemma. Should he set three places, or four? If he set three then Gilbert wouldn't have his own plate and would have to share. Yet, if he set four then he would be forced to try and explain Gilbert's presence, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to find the words to do that. Sure, Gilbert could touch them on the arm or something, just to prove that he was really there, but then Alfred would probably freak out and start yelling about ghosts, and Matthew really wasn't sure how Arthur would react. As he stared at the cutlery in the drawer and brooded over his options, Gilbert walked up and studied him for a moment.

He chuckled. "Looks like you spoke too soon at lunch. You just can't get away from sharing with my awesome self, can you?"

Matthew huffed in reply, but at least Gilbert had helped him make up his mind.

As a result, dinner turned into a curious game, where Gilbert would sneak some food off Matthew's plate whenever Arthur and Alfred's attention was engaged elsewhere. It was going well until one heart-stopping moment when Alfred looked over suddenly when Gilbert had a glass of water halfway to his mouth. Matthew tensed, ready for the explosion of paranormal paranoia, but it never came. Alfred looked back over at Arthur, not even missing a beat in their conversation, as if he hadn't even seen the glass of water floating suspiciously above Matthew's right shoulder.

Matthew looked up at Gilbert with wide eyes and found a pair of red eyes, gleaming with mischief, staring back. He gave a small, frantic shake of his head, but there was nothing he could do, save for jumping from his seat and grabbing the other boy, and so Gilbert stalked around the table and lifted Alfred's glass. He held it directly in Alfred's line of sight, not more than a hand's span away from the tip of his nose.

Alfred didn't see it. He reached for where the glass had been moments before but his hand closed on nothing but air. His brow furrowed and he scanned the top of the table, looking at both Matthew and Arthur's drinks. "Where's my soda?"

"It's right there by your elbow," Arthur replied, pointing with his fork at the glass that Gilbert had just placed back down. Alfred looked over at it, his face all confusion.

"Did I put it there?" he mumbled to himself, picking it up and taking a cautious sip. Apparently satisfied that it was, in fact, his soda, he then took a large gulp before placing it back on the table, directly in front of himself. Matthew noticed that he kept a close watch over it throughout the rest of the meal. Gilbert must have noticed too, because he didn't try to take it again, instead filching a piece of meat here, or a carrot there. He was good at it too. Neither Arthur nor Alfred noticed a thing, and Matthew had to keep his eyes fixed on his plate to keep from laughing aloud. It was like watching the seagulls down at the port, and Gilbert's white hair didn't help dispel the mental image in the least.

It was Matthew's turn to do the dishes that evening, perched on a stepping stool so he could reach into the deep basin of the kitchen sink. Gilbert flitted around the room behind him, tea-towel in hand, flicking Matthew with the end whenever he passed by and laughing at the glare he got in return. "If you're just going to run around like that you might as well help me dry these," Matthew complained, pointing at the items currently piling up in the drying rack on the counter.

Gilbert hummed and rocked back and forth between his feet, smirking. "Why should I?"

"Because… because if you do then we'll be done faster and I'll give you a tour of the house. You wanted to see what it was like, right?"

Gilbert pondered this for a moment before shrugging. "Okay." He reached over, grabbed the nearest plate and began to rub it dry. Matthew felt the urge to tell him to be careful not to break anything, but Gilbert seemed to have instantly reigned in his energy and the easy movements of his arms were so careful and methodical that Matthew was left shaking his head at the sudden change. It seemed that as soon as he'd decided something about Gilbert, the other would come out and surprise him by being the exact opposite. So instead of a warning, Matthew gave a small thanks and the two continued until all the dishes had been washed, dried and put away back into the maple stained cabinets.

"Well, I guess you already know the kitchen," Matthew said, motioning around the room, deciding that if he was to give a tour they might as well start here. The walls were a pale cream colour, the same as every other wall in the entire house. Through the windows, the sky was slowly darkening to a rich gold, so intense that it almost seemed alight with fire. Just barely still in the light, the back wall was taken up by the cabinets, stove, sink and stark white refrigerator; completely at odds with the dark backsplash and marble countertop — that wasn't _actually_ marble, but _looked_ like it was. Centred in the remainder of the room was the table where they'd eaten, wood tinted the same rich maple as the cabinets.

"A truly wondrous room," Gilbert said sagely, nodding to himself.

Matthew rolled his eyes again; it was quickly becoming a bad habit. "I'm glad you approve. Next would be the sitting room."

He continued the tour to the aforementioned sitting room, right across from the kitchen, with it's gas fireplace and firm, somewhat uncomfortable couches. Back down the hall to the den with the television, and wall of shelving, crammed with books, blankets, and other miscellany. Past the stairs and backdoor, to the ground-floor bathroom that doubled as the laundry room. Gilbert followed him closely, and would poke around in each of the new rooms, even going so far as to open the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

"There's nothing but cleaning supplies under there," Matthew told him, watching dubiously. "And maybe some spiders."

Gilbert laughed in reply. "Well that's boring!" But he closed the door quickly and Matthew noticed that he checked his hands and feet rather carefully before continuing on.

They climbed the stairs, and then swung around a pony wall to come to a nook with a computer and the grandmother clock that had woken Matthew in the middle of the night. "The first room on the right is Arthur and Papa's," Matthew explained quietly, pointing out the door. "Then the one further on is Alfred's room. On the left is a washroom, and my room is across from Alfred's."

Gilbert didn't even wait for him to finish speaking before he'd trotted down the hall, pulled open the door to Matthew's room, and walked in. Matthew followed with a twinge of annoyance at being cut off, but found that he couldn't stay mad with Gilbert looking around his small and rather plain room so enthusiastically. He sat down on his bed and hugged Kumajiro to his chest, the plush backpack having been emptied of containers by this point and the straps tucked away so he was like nothing more than a big teddy bear. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"_Ja,_ it's cozy," Gilbert replied. He closed the closet door and then circled the room, opening and closing every drawer on the way before finally throwing himself down on the bed next to Matthew, making the mattress dip crazily for a moment before settling.

Outside, the sky had turned a deep purple, and a full moon hung huge and pale over the roofs of the houses across the street. "Gilbert," Matthew asked hesitantly. "What about your parents? Shouldn't you tell them where you are? It's getting late out."

It was the same old scene. For a moment Gilbert's face tightened, but then he turned away and reached suddenly for the stack of books sitting on the bedside table. "Hey, what's this?" he asked. He was obviously trying to change the subject, Gilbert hadn't had any interest in books or reading earlier at the library, he'd said so himself.

His hand closed around a spine wrapped in leather and decorated with small leaves. Matthew was about to call him out, but then Gilbert screamed.

It was a scream of pain. The sound so loud that it drowned out the dull thud of the book hitting the carpet, and Matthew suddenly found himself on his feet, his muscles tensed, ready to do _something_. Kumajiro rolled to the floor, forgotten.

Gilbert was curled up over his legs, clutching his left hand to his chest and shaking so hard that it rattled Matthew's arms when he grabbed his shoulders.

"Gilbert! Gilbert are you okay? What happened?" His body might have been ready to run, but Matthew's mind was too surprised to panic. He tried to get Gilbert to sit back up, but the muscles under his hands were as hard as steel cables and he couldn't budge him.

"_Das Buch!_" Gilbert hissed through clenched teeth. His voice was ragged and tight. _"Es mich brannte!"_

"Gilbert, I don't understand. You need to tell me in English, okay?" Matthew coaxed.

He received no response. Gilbert was panting, a high whine of pain resonating from his throat, and all Matthew could do was rub his shoulders and back, trying to sooth him.

Matthew couldn't understand what had just happened. He looked down at the book on the carpet. It was _Hush,_ the cursive script of the title facing them almost smugly, as though it knew what it had done. Maybe it did. Matthew still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something unnatural about the book, something almost alive.

The sight of it rattled him almost more than Gilbert's scream had, and there was a sudden tremor in his arms that had nothing to do with Gilbert's shaking. He took a deep breath and then started to sing softly, trying to keep calm.

_"À la claire fontaine, m'en allent promener. J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle, que je m'y suis baigné. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai."_

He paused for a moment, mind fumbling for the second chorus. _"Sous les feuilles d'un chêne, je me suis fait sécher. Sur la plus haute branche, un rossignol chantait. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai."_

Gilbert seemed to hear him, even through the cloud of pain, because slowly he quieted and Matthew was only interrupted once by a muffled sniffle before Gilbert shifted, sliding his left hand out into the open. He didn't sit up, however. Didn't even try to look at it.

"The book burned my hand," he said shakily. "Does it look bad?"

His hand was still closed in a fist, and Matthew needed to gently pry his fingers open to see his palm.

There were red splotches running across Gilbert's palm and fingers, standing out strongly against his pale skin. Matthew gently pressed down on one of them, causing Gilbert to hiss in pain. It was slightly swollen and the skin was rough and hot.

"I don't really know," he admitted, trying to keep his voice calm for Gilbert's sake. He'd never burned himself before, but he'd seen his Papa treat Alfred once when he grabbed a pot off the stove, not checking if the element was on. Alfred's hand had been covered with blisters for several days and he'd been prohibited from picking at them. At least Gilbert didn't have any blisters so far. There was also the issue of how Gilbert had managed to be burned by a _book_ of all things. However, his pain seemed real enough for Matthew to push that concern aside for the moment. "I don't think it looks too bad, but maybe we should run it under water for a bit?"

Only now did Gilbert risk raising his head, and then only enough to peek at his palm. His face still remained hidden from Matthew's sight. "Would that help? It feels like my entire hand is on fire."

"It should. Are you okay to stand?"

Gilbert nodded once and then rubbed his right arm over his face several times before finally raising his head. Matthew looked away, giving Gilbert time to compose himself. He couldn't hide the red rims around his eyes however, and when he slowly rose to his feet his entire body wavered so dramatically that Matthew dove for his elbow, pulling Gilbert's arm up and around his shoulders so he wouldn't fall.

The second floor bathroom was only five steps down the hall, but those five seemed to lengthen into a hundred as Matthew guided Gilbert along, his friend sagging against his shoulder, feet stumbling beneath him.

Gilbert was panting again, and his face was a mask of pain, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Matthew was afraid that he would faint before they made it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to do anything but drag Gilbert the rest of the way if that happened. So when he pulled the washroom door closed behind them and clicked the lock into place he couldn't help but feel relieved.

It was awkward, but he managed to push Gilbert up to lay on the counter, his burned hand draped into the sink with cold water running over it. He stood guard at the edge, making sure that Gilbert didn't roll off, and waited.

It took over ten minutes, but finally the pain cleared from Gilbert's eyes, and he was the one to reach over and shut off the faucet. "I think it's okay now," he said, though he winced when he flexed his hand experimentally. Matthew took hold of it gently and looked it over. The skin did look better. It was more pink than red now, though it was still tender to the touch.

"Do you want me to try and wrap it?" Matthew asked. "I think we have some gauze in the first-aid kit."

"Do you know how?" Gilbert sounded surprised and tried to grin, though it turned out looking more like a grimace.

"Well, no. Not really." He'd never actually tried wrapping an injury before, but it shouldn't be too hard, right? The gauze just needed to go around and around. "But I've seen people do it before."

"All right Mattie, I'll trust you." Before Matthew could react Gilbert swivelled and slid off the counter, landing steadily enough on his feet.

"Why don't you sit down," Matthew prompted anyway, hovering at Gilbert's side incase he began to wobble again. Thankfully, Gilbert sat down on the plush shower mat without any protest and watched as Matthew dug the first-aid kit out from beneath the sink.

There were a lot of things in the kit that Matthew didn't know how to use, and all sort of packages full of disinfectant wipes and thick pads of gauze, all shoved together in no particular order. Eventually Matthew found a package called "roller gauze" and opened it, sighing in relief when it looked like he'd found the right thing. For a moment he contemplated the disinfectant wipes. Whenever he had a cut or scrape his Papa had always forced him to sit still through being dabbed with those horrible stinging wipes. But Gilbert wasn't bleeding, so it probably wasn't necessary.

Wrapping a wound turned out to be harder than he imagined. First it was too tight and Gilbert hadn't been able to hold back a whimper, and then it was too loose, hanging in loops in some places. Then there was the issue of covering all of Gilbert's fingers as well. Eventually Matthew just wrapped them all together as though Gilbert was wearing a single white mitten. By the time it looked reasonably secure, Matthew had used up the entire roll of gauze and was horribly frustrated by the entire process.

"There!" he exclaimed, using a small piece of tape to bind the loose end.

Gilbert shook his hand a couple times, and when the dressing didn't instantly come undone he nodded. "It looks like it will hold, at least."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Never," Gilbert assured him with a small smile that was so different from his usual grin that Matthew was, for a moment, rendered speechless. Gilbert looked almost fragile in his sincerity, with his eyes red from hidden tears and his hair plastered against his forehead.

Matthew pushed the first-aid kit aside and shifted so he was sitting next to Gilbert on the mat, letting his back rest against the cool porcelain side of the bathtub. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Whenever I ask you about your parents you never answer me. Do you not get along?"

There was a soft thunk as Gilbert let his head roll back against the glass tub door. He was looking up at the ceiling silently and when Matthew leaned closer to him, he angled his head away.

"That's not fair!" Matthew complained. "You said I could ask!"

"I never said I would answer!" Gilbert bit back. His shoulders hunched, as though he was trying to curl up into a little ball.

"But why not? Is it really something so terrible? Gilbert, look at me!" He reached out with both hands and cupped them around Gilbert's cheeks, forcing his head around to face him. Gilbert kept his eyes down, glued to the floor. "I don't know what's wrong, but I can't help you unless you tell me _why!"_

Gilbert's unwrapped hand came up and he tangled it in his own hair, pulling hard at the white strands. "There's nothing to tell," he said so faintly that Matthew almost missed it. "I don't remember…"

"What do you mean you don't remember? _What_ don't you remember?"

Gilbert seemed to be at war with himself. Finally the side in favour of telling Matthew seemed to win out because he suddenly blurted, "I don't remember anything at all!"

Matthew's hands dropped to his sides and he stared blankly, mouth dropping slowly open. "What do you mean?…"

"You really want to know?" Gilbert's voice grew louder, stronger, though it was tinged with a desperate wildness that made Matthew shrink back in fright. "Fine, I'll tell you! A few days ago I woke up in the middle of that library. I had no idea where I was, or why no one could see me. I kept telling myself it was a dream, but no matter how many times I tried to wake up I couldn't! All that time, the only thing I could remember was my name!" Gilbert looked up suddenly and Matthew flinched back when he met those frantic red eyes with his own. "And yet, I know they're there, in my head. My memories. I can feel them, like a weight." His fist coiled tighter around his hair, as though he would pull the memories out by force. "But whenever I try to reach for them they slip through my fingers like smoke." Suddenly, his hand loosened and lost its grip, moving instead to cover his eyes. A tremor ran across his shoulders. "Like smoke…"

"Gilbert, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," Matthew said softly, reaching out to rest a cautious hand on his shoulder. He was afraid that Gilbert might push him away, but instead he found the white-haired boy leaning into him, if only ever so slightly. "Do you…" he hesitated. "Do you have any idea _why_ your memories are gone?"

Gilbert shook his head mutely.

_What can make people forget things?_ Matthew wondered, scouring his own memory. He knew that there was amnesia, he had read about it in one of his stories. But he thought that you had to be hit really hard in the head for that to happen, and Gilbert didn't seem to have any bruises. That he could see at least. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "But you _haven't_ forgotten everything!"

Gilbert tilted his head slightly to show that he was listening.

"Earlier, when we saw the firetruck, you knew that there couldn't be a fire because there was no smoke. If you had forgotten everything, then how did you know what fire was?" It wasn't the best argument and Matthew knew it, but maybe it would still cheer Gilbert up. _And yet,_ his mind added silently, _he didn't know about cars or movies._

Gilbert turned away for a second and Matthew could see him rubbing his face again. "I… don't know," he admitted when he turned back around. "It just sort of came to me, I guess." Then suddenly it was his eyes' turn to widen. "It was like when we were watching that dead guy be wheeled out of his house. The entire time I had this feeling, like I'd seen something like that happen before."

"Déjà vu?" Matthew asked, surprised. A part of him was relieved. If Gilbert could remember having seen things once, then didn't it mean that the rest of his memories really were still there in his head and might return at some point as well. And yet, there was another part of him that was worried about what could have happened in Gilbert's past if seeing a corpse had triggered his first sense of recollection "Is that why you were so quiet?"

Gilbert didn't seem to hear Matthew's second question. "Is that what it's called?" he mused, looking thoughtful. "Déjà vu."

A loud rapping on the washroom door made both of them jump.

"Hurry up bro, I wanna brush my teeth." Came Alfred's voice from the hall, reminding them suddenly of where they were currently sitting.

"Oh, um. Just a minute!" Matthew called back, jumping up and hastily repacking the first-aid supplies. He could hear Alfred tapping his foot impatiently beyond the door as he shoved the kit back under the sink. Gilbert shifted slightly, so he now perched on the rim of the tub and watched as Matthew grabbed his toothbrush, squirted paste onto it and shoved it in his mouth before finally unlocking the door.

"What? You haven't even brushed _your_ teeth yet?" Alfred asked looking incredulously at the brush as he barged into the room. "You were in here for ages. What were you doing all that time?"

Matthew shrugged evasively and continued to brush his teeth. Fortunately, by the time he was finished Alfred was the one with a brush in his mouth, so when his brother once again tried to ask him why he had taken so long, it came out as an incomprehensible mumble and Matthew could cheerfully wish him a good night and make his escape, Gilbert tagging along at his heels.

Back in his room, Matthew rescued Kumajiro from the floor, placing him on the bed with a small whispered apology at the rough treatment and then bent down again to retrieve _Hush_. Before his hand could close over the cover, Gilbert grabbed his wrist and yanked him back so hard that he stumbled and nearly fell.

"Don't touch it!" Gilbert yelped, looking at the book as though it was a coiled serpent, waiting to strike. "Do you _want_ it to hurt you too?"

"It won't burn me," Matthew said confidently, though inside he was suddenly nervous. "It hasn't before now."

"But how do you know?"

"Don't worry, I'll be careful." Matthew reached back towards the book, pointedly extending only a single finger. He pressed it gently against the leather and ran it down the length of the cover before sliding his entire hand around the spine and lifting it from the floor. "See, there's nothing to worry about."

Gilbert was still looking at it with suspicion, and leaned away when Matthew turned back in his direction and held the book up for him to inspect. "I still don't like it," he said adamantly. "And I don't trust it anywhere near me."

Matthew lowered the book. "That's okay, to tell you the truth I don't really trust it either."

"What happened?"

Matthew looked down at the creamy leather, trying to find the best way to explain about the eye that was so much like Gilbert's own, and the voice. That terrible, grating voice. "First let's get ready for bed," he said eventually, putting the book back on his bedside table. "I guess you'll be staying here for now. And that's fine by me," he added quickly so it wouldn't sound like he was complaining. He'd never actually had a friend sleepover before, he'd never had any friends close enough for that.

"I can lend you some pyjamas, though they might be a little bit short on you." Matthew guessed after he looked Gilbert over, sighing internally that his friend seemed to have a good five inches on him. More and more Matthew found himself wishing that his body would hurry up and grow soon. He didn't like having to always look up at people. To occupy his thoughts, Matthew started to dig through the small chest of drawers next to his closet, and eventually found a pair of blue tartan pyjama pants that had always been a bit big on him. He tossed them to Gilbert and then dug out a loose fitting white t-shirt. His own pyjamas were stashed under his duvet, and he pulled these out in turn.

They changed quickly, Gilbert fumbling awkwardly with the ribbon at his neck as he tried to get it undone without using his injured hand. Matthew had turned away so that they might have some small privacy, but he could hear Gilbert grumbling about knots and then his crow of triumph when he finally succeeded in untying it.

"Where should I put these clothes?" Gilbert asked shortly after, holding up a pile, all nicely folded, with the socks balled up and tucked into his shoes sitting on top.

"I guess we can put them in the closet for now," Matthew said, looking at the dark wooden sliding doors. "I wonder if Alfred or Arthur will be able to see them now that you aren't wearing them."

"Should we hide them then?" Gilbert asked.

"Oh, I don't think that's really necessary. I mean, unless you really don't want them to know you're here."

"I don't know," Gilbert admitted. "I don't suppose invisible people are all that common. It seems like it would be a lot of work trying to explain to them how I'm here." His face fell. "Especially when I don't even know myself."

"It will be our secret then," Matthew replied, smiling softly. "At least until you get your memories back."

A short time later found them both sitting tucked under the duvet of the bed, Matthew having insisted that it was more then big enough for them to share, and that he would feel terrible if he made a guest sleep on the floor. Gilbert hadn't seemed to mind. He took the side farthest from the door, which was also the side farthest from Matthew's bedside table, and the books perched upon it.

"So, tell me why _you_ don't trust that book," he said, watching warily as Matthew lifted _Hush_ into his lap.

Matthew hesitated, wondering if that grating voice he'd heard in the library would suddenly make itself known once again and forbid him from speaking. He heard nothing, and taking that as having been granted permission, he told Gilbert everything and as he did he felt a weight he didn't even know he was carrying lift off his shoulders. Gilbert listened attentively, not interrupting once, though he did shudder when Matthew told him about the voice that had whispered in his ear.

"I never saw anything strange while I was in the library," he said afterwards. "Well, stranger than me. I suppose that also explains why you ran away so fast. I probably would have booked it too if I was in your place."

"I'm just glad you decided to chase after me," Matthew replied honestly. "Even if I wasn't at the time!"

Gilbert grinned and looked back down at the book. "So what's that thing about, anyway?"

"I only glanced over the first page," Matthew admitted. He didn't actually remember what the words had said, only that he hadn't liked the tone. "It was kind of creepy, so I didn't read further than that."

"Should we read it?" Gilbert had a daring look on his face and he glowered at _Hush_ in challenge.

Matthew shook his head. "First the movie, and now this? You're a glutton for punishment, you know that?" But he couldn't deny that his own curiosity was roused once again. "Fine, we'll read some of it."

Matthew flipped open the cover, and finding the top of the first line, began to read aloud.

_"There was once a forest ringed round by a little white fence. The forest was old, and the shadows beneath the boughs of its trees were black and full of old fears."_

_"At the edge of this forest was a small woodland village, where the people kept hens and sheep, and worked the surrounding land for their suppers."_

_"There were a great many children in the village, and of all of them the most mischievous was a boy named Gilbert, who would lead the rest around tangling the old women's knitting yarn, and switching pies left to cool on windowsills for mud patties."_

"Hey!" Gilbert interrupted, "He has the same name as me!"

"He does…" Matthew stared at the name on the page, trying to remember if he'd noticed it the first time he'd scanned the text. He wasn't sure he had.

"That's awesome! I'm going to be routing for him," Gilbert said, laughing. He then prodded Matthew's shoulder, prompting him to keep reading.

_"'Oh, my brazen child,' his mother would scold. 'Do not antagonize our neighbours so! For it is by their good graces that a poor widow such as myself can find a living in our small village.'"_

_"And Gilbert would be sad for their sorry lot and try to be quiet and well-behaved, but he would soon forget his mother's wise words and continue to run wild with the other children, seeking out all the forbidden places and run along the forest fence, rattling the posts with sticks dragged along the timbers."_

_"At the very edge of the village was the house of an old man who remembered all the old stories of the things that lurked in the heart of the forest. But he was unkind, and would beat any child he found playing next to the fence with his worn walking stick before sending them home, and because of this the people of the village ignored his old stories."_

_"It became a game for the children, to see who could creep closest to his house without being caught, and when the old man saw them he would chase them away and would yell at them, shaking his fist. 'Do not go into the Black Forest,' he would say. 'For your eyes see only in light, and cannot penetrate the shadows! And in the shadows dwell the restless dead, and they will cling to your shoulders, and they will cross the fence and eat the living, and the dead will outnumber the living!'"_

_"But the children did not listen, for they did not fear the shadows, and Gilbert feared them least of all for he had been born pale as the morning star and his skin shed the darkness that the old man feared in the depths of his heart."_

_"And so the children continued to run along the fence with their little sticks, and would duck beneath the rails to dance upon the thick moss under the shadow of the trees, until one day a great boar was stirred up from the hills by a group of hunters. It ran straight through the village, sides flecked with hot foam and broke through the fence, scattering the rails like kindling before an axe."_

_"The people looked at the break, but they did not move to fix it. It was only an old fence after all, they told themselves. Whoever first built it is already long gone. When the old man saw their apathy he raised his arms to the sky and cried out that the village would soon suffer for it, but no one paid him any heed."_

_"The next day the old man was dead and there was a small gathering around his house while the young men of the village carried him down off the porch bench where they had found him and out of the village, to the little cemetery just down the road. And there they buried him without ceremony in a shallow grave dug in the dry earth, and within a day he was forgotten."_

Out in the hall the grandmother clock began to toll, and Matthew paused to count the strokes. It was nine o'clock. He quickly fumbled for a bookmark and closed _Hush_ once he had marked their place, setting it back on his bedside table.

"Why are you stopping?" Gilbert complained. "I want to know what happens next!"

"Do you remember what I said about Alfred earlier?" Matthew asked, edging slightly away from the door. "About how he doesn't sleep in his own bed after watching scary movies?"

There was the patter of feet in the hall and the click of a door being closed stealthily.

"Wait, I thought you were joking about that!"

Matthew only had time to say, "Prepare yourself," flatly, with his best unamused look before the door to the room opened and closed so quickly it was almost a blur and Alfred was suddenly bowling him over, nearly sending Gilbert off the other side of the bed.

"Matthew!" Alfred whined. "I think my bed is trying to eat me!"

~oOo~

**Translation**

_Mein Gott_: My God

_À l'épreuve des nuls_: Idiot-proof

_Ja_: Yes

_Das Buch! Es mich brannte!_: That book! It burned me!

_À la claire fontaine, m'en allent promener_: At the clear fountain, on my promenade

_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle, que je m'y suis baigné_: I found the water so fair, that I stopped to bathe

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai_: I have loved you for a longtime, never will I forget you

_Sous les feuilles d'un chêne, je me suis fait sécher_: Under the leave of an oak tree, I dried myself

_Sur la plus haute branche, un rossignol chantait:_ On the highest branch, a nightingale was singing

**All right, so here we have chapter 6! It was another longer one, and a ton of stuff happened, including us finding out why Gilbert was always being so evasive when answer questions about his family (amoung other things). We also have the first introduction to what is written in the book _Hush_. That's honestly the part of the chapter that took the longest for me, I think I wrote it in about four different ways before deciding on this particular style (which is based on the Grimm's fairy-tales). Of special note, the line "[the dead will] eat the living, and the dead will outnumber the living," comes from the ancient Mesopotamian myth "The Descent of Ishtar to the Underworld", and is probably my favorite undead-related line, so I just had to put it in here.  
**

**Do you like how compact I made the house "tour"? It could have dragged on horribly, as I actually built it in Minecraft when trying to visualize it (twice actually... since the first time I decided to make the walls out of packed ice for no apparent reason and it looked kind of strange...). But I'm not a fan of long unnecessary descriptions, so I wouldn't put you guys through something like that either. :)**

**This chapter also has some forays into the German language that involve more than just a single word arrived at through a combined use of Google translate, a pocket German-English dictionary, and Wiki articles about German grammar! (So hopefully it's right, but if it isn't, let me know!)  
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**Thank you to: Konoha-11-are-cool, zoewinter1, Marranna Listten and CielArtemisKiss (sorry I missed thanking you last time, I need to remember to organize comments by date rather than chapter, haha) for your comments and birthday wishes, as well as to those who have recently favorited or followed this story, your support is much appreciated! :)  
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**Now that more has been revealed, and some parallels within the story should hopefully be coming clear, I'm curious to hear what your guys' theories on Gilbert are, or where you feel the story might be going from here on out! So if you have a space moment, jot down something in the comment box below and let me know what you think of the story so far.  
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